


strictly confectional

by likecharity



Category: British Comedy RPF, Just Puddings (Web Series), Off Menu with Ed Gamble and James Acaster (Podcast)
Genre: Awkwardness, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Come Eating, Dom/sub Undertones, Facials, Finger Sucking, Food, Food Kink, Food Porn, Friends to Lovers, Hair-pulling, Hand & Finger Kink, Hand Feeding, Hand Jobs, Insecurity, Kink Exploration, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Neck Kissing, Neediness, Oral Fixation, Oral Sex, Sexual Tension, Shame, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-18 00:07:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 30,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18109289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likecharity/pseuds/likecharity
Summary: Just Puddings is really more about the comedy than anything else. Of course James is genuinely very passionate about puddings, and sometimes Ed really doesn't want to bother with the hassle involved when it comes to eating them himself, but mainly, it's just a silly thing to put on YouTube that they hope will make people laugh. Which is why James is a little confused when he realises they seem to have stopped filming it and started doing it in James's flat, just the two of them, in their own time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm aware this has no right to be anywhere near as long as it is, I think I may have lost my mind tbh. 30K+ words centred around a kink that I don't even have!! WHAT. I happened to get tendonitis in my wrist during the writing of this, and it was because of a totally different thing, but I'm not entirely convinced that the fic had nothing to do with it. 
> 
> There are a few mentions of food issues and body issues, but they are very mild.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Sashataakheru](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sashataakheru/) for the beta services and support! ❤️ Title from 'Sweet Bod' by Lemon Demon.

Just Puddings is really more about the comedy than anything else. Of course James is genuinely very passionate about puddings, and sometimes Ed really doesn't want to bother with the hassle involved when it comes to eating them himself, but mainly, it's just a silly thing to put on YouTube that they hope will make people laugh. Which is why James is a little confused when he realises they seem to have stopped filming it and started doing it in James's flat, just the two of them, in their own time.

It develops gradually. Sometimes, they'll go out to eat together and James will get some elaborate dessert and Ed will ask, half-joking, for James to describe it while he eats. Those are the days that Ed opts to forgo pudding, or, on some occasions, go for cheese instead, which James always suspects is a move calculated purely to enrage him. But either way, Ed will end up looking longingly at one particular sugary concoction on the menu, waxing lyrical about how it might taste, until James finds himself influenced enough to order it for himself. They'll joke about it—"Oh, I'll have it for you, Ed," James will say graciously, and Ed will reply, "Describe it real well for me, James, and it'll be almost like I'm eating it myself."

But then Ed starts showing up at James's flat with things for him to try, and that's—different. The explanations seem fair enough—Ed will say things like "I just really wanted you to try some of those pastries from that new place in Kensington, and it's a bit of a faff, isn't it, setting up to film it? So I thought I'd just bring you some instead." He'll detail special sales and limited time only offers, and talk about how busy they both are and the time and effort it takes to meet up with the Turtle Canyon crew, and really, it all sounds terribly reasonable.

Except, if it's more about comedy than anything else, if the main purpose of it is entertainment for others, then what are they doing sitting on James's sofa with no cameras and no audience? What's _that_ about—James nibbling macarons or sipping elaborate milkshakes while Ed sits beside him and just...watches? And some of the things Ed shows up with—all right, James is no expert, but surely a single gourmet marshmallow wouldn't require too much of an insulin adjustment. And yet it seems that Ed would rather watch James eat the thing than eat it himself, which is _weird_ , surely.

And yet James never objects, never even asks questions. He likes to tell himself it's just because, well, who turns down a free bag of gourmet marshmallows? He's not made of stone!—but deep down he knows there's more to it than that. It's something hard to define, something he doesn't want to confront head-on, so instead he just lets it lurk and fester. He doesn't let himself think about it much at all, but it's always been there, ever since he first met Ed, and it's constantly simmering just under the surface. It lends a strange tension to their otherwise very comfortable friendship, but James insists to himself that it's honestly not that big of a deal. It is constant and unyielding which, in a strange way, makes it relatively easy to live with, in that James doesn't know anything different. It's just How Things Are.

He absolutely refuses to call it a crush, partly because that seems like such a pathetic, juvenile word, but mainly because calling it anything at all gives it legitimacy. He will not dignify it with a name. The vast majority of his life, it's not on his mind at all. But not thinking about it becomes more of a challenge than it usually is when they're alone in James's flat and Ed is _looking at him like that_. James finds himself closing his eyes, more often than not, and Ed thinks that's just how he enjoys puddings, that he's going someplace else in his head, but the truth is he can't handle the intensity of Ed's gaze fixed on him as he eats. There's something terrifyingly intimate about the whole thing, which he never really noticed before when they were in public, and he doesn't know what to do with it except be unnerved.

Ed jokes about it, of course. Not when they're alone, but to other people. He says stuff like, "Oh, it's a powerfully erotic experience, watching James enjoy a pudding," and tells their friends about some of James's more exuberant reactions in ways that make them sound dirty—the rare occasions when James has had to steady himself on Ed after the first bite of something particularly exquisite, or the times he's been lost for words and all he's been able to do is mutter "Fuck," breathy and overwhelmed. James always just holds up his hands like "guilty!" and laughs along, like he's not screaming on the inside.

Because what does it _mean_ , really? He can't help feeling like it must mean _something_ that Ed seems to enjoy it so much. It can't be normal to get so much pleasure from watching somebody else enjoy a pudding, and James can tell that it really, truly does bring Ed pleasure. Now that they're doing it privately, there's no longer any other reason James can think of. It's obviously not just for comedy purposes. And if it was purely to make _James_ happy there'd be no reason for him to stick around.

But no, Ed has to be there. Ed has to watch. And he _could_ taste things himself if he really, really wanted to. James has seen him do it before, so he's not really buying the excuses. And besides, Ed doesn't even seem so bothered about James's descriptions lately. James's descriptions suffer with nobody but Ed to perform for, if he's honest. He still tries his best to detail the flavours but finds himself being a bit more straightforward about it when it's just the two of them. Partly it's because he's not trying as hard to be amusing, but mostly it's because of the Weird Vibe when they're alone—he finds himself lost for words, too busy focusing on the elephant in the room. He feels acutely self-aware, thinking too hard about the movements of his mouth, trying—somehow—to eat in a way that looks good (which, why does he care?) and obsessively wondering what Ed is thinking. And Ed doesn't prompt him so much anymore, doesn't press him for details. It seems like he's content just to watch as James chews, and swallows, and occasionally says utterly useless things like, "mm, yeah, it's really good."

James is never sure how he should be interpreting the whole thing, but one theory that persistently nags at him, despite his best efforts, is the one where Ed is getting off on it. Like, literally getting off on it, in that watching James eat sweet things actively turns him on and that intense look in his eyes signifies Sexual Thoughts and as soon as he gets home he has an urgent wank about the whole thing. Strange as James might find it, he supposes it must be a thing—there are all sorts of fetishes out there, aren't there, who's to say watching people eat puddings isn't one of them? He's not exactly going to Google it to check, but people get their rocks off to all kinds of weird shit. He wouldn't claim to understand it but he doesn't think he would judge Ed, if that's what happens to float his boat.

Except for the fact that he seems to have become an unwilling participant in this particular fetish. But can he really say that he's unwilling? He's certainly not objecting, though in his defence, he doesn't actually know if it _is_ a fetish or not. (And also, it's very hard to say no to free puddings.) If he really thinks about it, all he has to go on is a handful of suggestive comments and what one might call "a lustful gaze" (arguably subjective, he'll agree). It's not really enough evidence for accusing one of your closest mates of being a pervert.

In fact, James has some fairly serious concerns that _he's_ the pervert, for even considering it in a sexual light at all. What does it say about him, that he'd entertain such an explanation? Is he just full of himself, to imagine that he eats puddings so sexily that he gives Ed an actual boner? The whole thing seems absurd. At the very least it's some seriously pathetic wishful thinking, and James is most likely kidding himself to imagine that Ed would ever be aroused by anything he might do.

Honestly, he's fairly certain the whole thing's driving him completely insane, and he must hate himself even more than he thought he did because he _keeps putting himself through it anyway_.

Case in point: he's home for a couple of days in between tour dates when he gets a text from Ed saying he's acquired a box of what he refers to as "delicious-looking fancy cake things" and would James happen to be free to give them a try? James has multiple options here. He _could_ suggest that they invite some cameramen along too. He _could_ just say he's busy. He _could_ simply text back "You know what, it's getting a bit weird now, mate. No thanks." But instead, he replies—embarrassingly fast—that he's free this evening.

He was planning on just lazing around in front of the TV anyway so it's not like he's cancelling actual plans or anything, but he wasn't expecting to see anybody. After doing gigs multiple days in a row he always just feels wiped out socially, drained, and it's nice to spend some time alone and not really have to be a real person, just crash on the sofa in his pants. It's not that Ed is a tiring person to be around—actually, they know each other well enough that James can relax more around him than most people, but there's always that undercurrent of tension that stops him from ever getting too comfortable. And especially lately, with this thing they're doing—he can't say he doesn't _like_ it, but it's not exactly relaxing.

Ed shows up bang on time and proudly presents him with a box of little round cakes. They all appear to be different flavours, six of them nestled into one of those fancy little patisserie boxes with the clear plastic window in the top. James inspects them more closely and sees that they sort of resemble whoopie pies, which he's had in America—they all appear to be sandwiched with something creamy, and they have different, intricately-applied toppings. They look freshly made, and also expensive.

James doesn't ask how exactly Ed happened to acquire these. He supposes it's possible they could have been a gift, from some generous yet simultaneously thoughtless person, but it seems unlikely. Ed must be spending a fortune on all of the things he's brought round over the past few months, and he's not even getting to enjoy any of them himself, and yet not once has he asked James to chip in. It makes it feel seedier somehow, that Ed spends the money and all he asks for in return is to watch James enjoy the purchases. It's like he's some sort of—well—Sugar Daddy.

"They look good," says James, not wanting to sound too enthusiastic even though already his mouth is beginning to water.

"Yeah, so, this time there's a hitch," says Ed.

"Hmm?" asks James absentmindedly, dragging his eyes away from a particularly tempting-looking chocolate cake he was admiring.

And that's when Ed pulls his hand out of his jeans pocket, and produces a blindfold.

It's actually an eye mask, for sleeping, but for all intents and purposes it's a blindfold. James isn't sure what the difference is, if he's honest. The point is that it obscures one's vision, and apparently, that's what Ed wants from James tonight.

"Oh, okay, _what?_ " James blurts out.

"So I was thinking," says Ed, "if you don't have the use of one of your senses, right, the others become heightened. That's a thing."

"You sound like a serial killer," offers James.

"It's a thing!" Ed assures him. "One of your senses is blocked out, so your brain focuses more on the others. So, if you can't see...you taste better."

James narrows his eyes. "And now you sound like a cannibal."

"You know what I mean. _Things_ taste better _to_ you. The flavours are intensified." James continues to squint doubtfully at him. "I'm not making this up," Ed insists. "There are restaurants where people eat in the dark!"

All James can think about is how kinky the whole thing seems, and about how he absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, actually bring that up. He can't be the one to acknowledge it. Ed's acting like it's all completely normal and innocent and James just _can't_ be the pervert who makes it all weird.

Really, the man holding the box of cakes and the blindfold is the one making it weird, but—

"Right. I'm gonna level with you and say I'm not a fan of this idea," James admits. "Call me crazy but I like being able to see what I'm eating."

"You'll know what you're eating," Ed retorts, proffering the box. "These. I checked and there's nothing in them you don't like."

James says nothing because he can't come up with a decent rebuttal to that, and he really does want to eat the cakes. They do look delicious. He eyes them longingly.

"Do I only get to eat them if I put the blindfold on?" he asks.

"Yes," says Ed.

"Ugh," says James resignedly, and flops down onto the sofa. "All right."

He expects Ed to come and sit down too, but instead he goes into James's kitchen and turns on the tap.

"What're you doing?" calls James suspiciously.

"Washing my hands," Ed explains. "I'm gonna have to feed them to you, aren't I, since you won't be able to see what you're doing."

"Oh." James swallows around a lump in his throat. "Right."

Ed returns and puts the box on the coffee table, settling himself down on the sofa beside James. "I promise I'm not gonna put anything weird in your mouth," he says.

James says, "Well, I didn't think you were going to until you just said that," but actually, it's not really a concern. In a different context, maybe—if they were among others, and drunk, it's the kind of thing Ed might do for a laugh: feed him something gross when he's defenceless. But in this situation, he feels sure that Ed's only intention is to give him things he'll enjoy. He may have _some_ kind of ulterior motive, and James is becoming more convinced of that by the second, but he feels certain that it's not to cause humiliation or disgust.

"I promise all I've got is these puddings," Ed says solemnly, and hands him the eye mask.

"God. Okay," James sighs, pulling it down over his head, securing it over his eyes. A little bit of light gets in around the edges but he definitely can't see. "I don't know how you talk me into these things."

"I'm very persuasive," Ed agrees. "Also, you'll do anything for puddings."

"That is true," James admits. "It will be my downfall."

He hears Ed opening the box, and then he's very aware of increased proximity as Ed leans in. He's not sure he could say exactly what it is that he's recognising—just a shifting on the sofa, a warmth and presence—but he knows instinctively that Ed is much closer than he was a moment ago. He can also smell the treat that Ed has picked up, something sweet and nutty. James knew Ed wasn't talking out of his arse with the heightened senses thing, but he's still a little surprised at just how much he's noticing.

He realises then that he can smell Ed, too—he doesn't know what it is; his washing powder or cologne or body wash or something, but it's familiar and he realises for the first time how nice it is. He doesn't think that's something he's ever consciously noticed before, that he likes the way Ed smells, but suddenly it seems very obvious and troubling.

"Okay, this is the first one," says Ed, and his voice is very close. "I'm not going to tell you what it is because I want you to describe it, but I promise you'll like it."

"Hrmm," James replies grumpily, but tentatively opens his mouth.

Even though he's expecting it, he still flinches slightly when he feels something against his lips. He manages to take a bite, and for a second he forgets about Ed and the blindfold, because his mouth is filled with soft vanilla cake, and something very sweet and creamy, and the sugar immediately hits the pleasure centre of his brain and makes him feel like nothing else really matters all that much. Sometimes he feels weird for how much he loves sweet things. It must be genetic; he knows that his Dad and his siblings are the same and honestly that's reassuring, because sometimes people look at him like he's a madman when he talks about puddings. It's just—he's an addict, maybe. He's not into drugs but he feels like sugar is pretty much the same thing for him, the way something sweet can spark something in his brain, bright and sharp and magical. If it's really good, everything else sort of melts away, blurs into the background.

The next thing he's aware of is Ed chuckling softly beside him, like he can tell just how much James is enjoying it. Even with half of James's face covered, he can tell. He has seen this reaction many times. "Good?" he asks. His voice is warm and light, and for a second James feels bad for making him out to be some sort of creepy food pervert. He sounds perfectly innocent and friendly.

James swallows. "Very good," he says. "The cake is vanilla, like just the right amount of vanilla flavour—subtle, but strong enough. And there's buttercream inside but it's—nutty? Pistachio, I think."

"Yeah, well done," Ed says, sounding pleased. "Another bite?"

James parts his lips again and lets Ed feed him a little more, and this time he really savours the pistachio flavour—it's different now that he's not trying to work out what it is and he can just appreciate it.

"I can taste a bit of white chocolate, too," he says.

"Mmhm. More?"

James takes another bite and this time he gets some of a sort of crumbly topping, some of which might be falling down onto his shirt, which is embarrassing. He tries to brush it away but the task is made difficult by the fact that he can't see it and isn't even sure if it exists.

"Don't worry about that," Ed murmurs, which means that James definitely did spill crumbs down his front. Great. "What was that bite like?"

"Interesting," says James once he's finished chewing. "More pistachio, a really nice like, earthy flavour. And then there's something kind of tart and almost bitter, but fruity, I think it's raspberry? Like that freeze-dried raspberry powder you can get. There's just a sprinkling of it so it's not overpowering, but it's an interesting combination."

"Yeah, I think that's what it is," comes Ed's voice. "Last bite now."

James opens his mouth again, and this time he feels Ed's finger and thumb—just a slight brush of them against his lips as Ed puts the last bite of the cake into his mouth. It makes him flinch again, the contact—the intimacy of it, skin-to-skin. _God_ , he does a whole bit about lip skin and how it's more sensitive than the rest of your skin and right now he's horribly aware of just how true that is. He's almost distracted from the taste of the cake, finishes it without really paying attention. He can tell there's something on his lip, and he hesitates before licking it away because he's afraid of it seeming pornographic, which is ridiculous, and yet, a genuine concern in this absurd situation.

"All right, next one," says Ed now, and his voice sounds a bit rougher somehow, unusually hoarse. James can't help wondering how this might be affecting him, even though he feels stupid for it, like he always does when he starts entertaining this train of thought.

James opens his mouth and waits, and he feels—vulnerable, but in a sort of weirdly nice way, because he knows that he can trust Ed and despite the fact that he's sort of incapacitated he knows there's no real danger. And yet he's still at somebody else's mercy. He can't see, and he's waiting for something to be put in his mouth, and that's—well, it's a vulnerable position to be in, but instead of making him feel anxious it's making him feel all warm and tingly. There's a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach, something sort of pleasantly fluttery.

Ed carefully feeds him the next cake, which is a delectable combination of flavours—butterscotch and lovely warming spices, a drizzle of caramel, a touch of dark chocolate. He describes them more succinctly this time, because Ed doesn't really seem that bothered about descriptions tonight, and then opens his mouth for the second bite. He finds himself settling into the situation, not caring so much now about how silly he might look or how much of a mess he might be making. The cake tastes _so good_ , and he feels safe and trusting and—cared for? Something like that. He tries not to think too hard and to just enjoy the taste of the cake. Ed pops a delicious caramelised pecan into his mouth and he might—he might make a small, pleased noise. And it might be more of a sex noise than a normal food-enjoying noise.

Ed clears his throat, and James goes tense. It dawns on him slowly—too slowly—the feeling of arousal drifting lazily into focus, a sort of distant ache getting more insistent, making itself known. His stomach twists, and then drops. Oh god. All this time spent obsessing over whether or not Ed is turned on by this and now _he's_ getting turned on by it, like a hypocrite. Like a _pervert_. Getting turned on by being blindfolded, by being fed—being _fed!_ Like a goddamn _child!_ This is weird. _He_ is weird. So so weird. Oh no.

"Um..." comes Ed's voice, and the sound of it makes James sort of cringe, drawing in on himself. "You good?"

James realises just how tense he's gone, how he's clenching his hands into fists so tight his nails are digging into his palms. At this point, he could say no. He's being given an out. He could put a stop to this, even if it means not getting to eat any more of the cakes. It wouldn't actually really matter, in the grand scheme of things. Plenty more cakes in the—sea. But he actually _wants_ to keep going. And not just because the cakes are so delicious, but because he likes everything about this: the vulnerable feeling, the anticipation, the brief moments when Ed's fingers brush his lips...he doesn't want it to end.

"Yep," he says tersely. "Fine."

_Don't get hard don't get hard don't get hard,_ he thinks desperately, tensing his thigh muscles together so tightly that it hurts.

"Okay, 'cause I just—" Ed says, sounding slightly puzzled. He cuts himself off. "Never mind. Here's the next one."

Oh no, it's chocolate, James's Ultimate Vice. And it's _really good_ chocolate, too, just the right balance of sweet and bitter, and sort of fudgy like a brownie, the flavour rich and deep. There's a whipped cream in the middle that tastes like toasted marshmallows, and he can't even appreciate it properly because he feels too guilty. He shouldn't be enjoying this in the way that he's enjoying it, especially because he still doesn't actually _know_ if Ed is enjoying it that way too. What if this is just a quirky but totally innocuous pastime of Ed's, and James is perverting it? It's a violation, almost, of their friendship. Logical thought goes out of the window and is replaced by rising panic. Poor innocent Ed, he just wants James to do this one thing for him, as a friend, because of his terrible affliction, and James is getting horny about it like a gross kinky weirdo.

Ed feeds him another bite and this one does manage to distract him from his frantic thoughts because along with the chocolate there's the unmistakable taste of salted caramel, and it's heavenly. James makes a noise again because he can't help it, and he squirms, feeling overheated and sort of twitchy.

"I knew you'd like this one," says Ed, and his voice is all low, deep, and James can hear that he's smiling, which isn't a thing he knew you could hear until now. His tone sends another little jolt of pleasure through James, his synapses firing excitedly. He tries very hard to stop feeling so good, but his brain has gone stupid, his body just happily reacting to all the pleasant sensations that are happening.

Ed feeds him the last bite and James is getting lazy now, not putting as much effort in, and so he messes up. He's not sure exactly what's happened but he can tell he hasn't managed to get all of the rest of the cake into his mouth, and there's something on his chin.

"Whoops," says Ed softly, and his thumb strokes up under James's bottom lip, gathering the spilled cream, and without thinking James opens his mouth for it and licks it off, his tongue flicking out kitten-quick for more of that taste, swiping across the pad of Ed's thumb—

And then—

Then his phone is ringing, and it startles the sheer hell out of him.

He whips off the blindfold and grasps for the phone in an instant as if someone must be calling with an actual emergency. The ringing is horrifyingly loud, and the room seems violently bright, his phone screen even brighter.

"Oh," he says in a small voice, squinting, "it's Nish."

"Oh, go ahead, answer it," says Ed, and James gives him a very quick sideways glance, which is enough to gather that he too is reasonably flustered, his cheeks pink. "I mean, you know, I think we're—done? So. I'll just—go."

The stress James is feeling is disproportionate. It's just a phone ringing. It's just Nish. He could let it go to voicemail, he could silence it, it doesn't _actually_ matter. It's unlikely to be anything important, so there's really no need for him to feel like there's some sort of frantic countdown happening and if he doesn't pick up the phone ASAP something is going to explode.

It's making him so anxious he feels ill. He feels very hot and sort of clammy, and so so guilty, as if they've been caught out doing something they definitely should not be doing. It feels like Nish has actually walked right into the room, put his hands on his hips and said, "What the fuck are _you_ guys up to?"

Ed is scrabbling around for the eye mask where it's lying discarded on the floor. "I'll—take this," he says. He gestures to the box of cakes. "You keep those. Er. Enjoy! See you later."

"Bye!" yells James somewhat hysterically, and then immediately hits answer, bringing the phone up to his ear. "Hi, Nish," he says with a deep sigh, watching Ed let himself out.

"Hey," comes Nish's voice down the phone. "Wow, you sound _super_ weird."

 

* * *

 

The next day, Ed finds himself on the other side of London, in a Co-Op he's never been to before. He nipped in on his way home from a meeting, intending to pick up something to have for dinner, but instead he finds himself wandering the aisles aimlessly, zoning out, just thinking about James and their Situation. He knows they're not going to be seeing each other for a while, because James is returning to his tour and has about a week's worth of gigs in a row, but even if James was around, Ed's not sure he'd be hearing from him. He's worried he might have pushed things too far this time.

He wasn't bullshitting—he really did think that the blindfold might intensify the flavours, and that James would enjoy that. But it's not like he didn't have other reasons for wanting to try it. He's actually always wanted to feed James and never found an excuse before—it's been tempting to try it on Just Puddings, or sometimes when they're a little tipsy having a meal out together, but it's never _quite_ felt appropriate. Not that what happened last night was appropriate, particularly. Not that it's ever appropriate to go out and buy a bunch of little cakes with the express purpose of blindfolding one of your best mates and feeding them to him while you scrutinise his reactions so you can wank off to the mental images later.

Because, okay. Ed is really into watching attractive people eat. It's maybe an unusual thing to like, but so what? It's not hurting anyone. It goes way back; he can remember feeling an odd stirring of excitement as a young teenager seeing sexy ladies in adverts for restaurants. He doesn't consider it a fully-fledged fetish, because it's not something he _needs_ to think about in order to get off, it's just—a thing that he happens to like.

He's never really been able to explore it fully. He's fed girlfriends and boyfriends the odd thing in the past, because you can do that sometimes in a romantic kind of way without needing to explain yourself: chocolate-covered strawberries on Valentine's or bites of your meal at fancy restaurants and so on. But he's never felt comfortable enough in a relationship to open up about it, and until James, he never met anyone who would happily go along with the whole thing _without_ an explanation. And maybe it's weird, because they're not— _together_ , but it's just something they seem to have fallen into, over the years of friendship, as they've grown closer. Ed has always wanted to eat more puddings than he realistically should, and then there's James, happy to eat enough for the both of them, and it's just sort of perfect. He's just so _willing_.

He's also such a great person to watch. His love of sugar makes him so wonderfully enthusiastic about anything sweet, and it's a joy to see him go all giddy over a pudding. It's charming, really, the almost childlike glee and excitement. And he's so unrestrained with his love. Ed has always thought that James seems to feel things particularly intensely, or that perhaps he's lacking a certain thing that holds some people back from expressing their emotions fully. He's always so open with his reactions. When he tastes something he _really_ likes, it's as if he feels it with his whole body—he can't just be still and quiet, he has to gasp or exclaim or curse or moan. And has to move, too, funny little gestures like dancing or slapping his thighs or gripping Ed's arm or hitting the table. He exaggerates it sometimes for comedic effect, Ed suspects, but for the most part it's a genuine thing, the expulsive nature of his reactions. Ed has noted it in other contexts—the way he laughs when something _really_ tickles him is a sight to behold, full-bodied, uninhibited. It's like sometimes a feeling bubbles up inside him and just has to burst out one way or another. He's an odd duck, and Ed is so very fond of him.

Also he has a nice mouth, and Ed enjoys seeing things go into it. Sue him. There's just something about the curl of James's top lip and the slight poutiness of his bottom one. The way he chews on the edge of that bottom lip when he's nervous or concentrating. His sharp canines that look so good when they're sinking into something soft, and the way his two front teeth cross over just a little bit, a delightful little imperfection in his otherwise picture-perfect smile.

It was particularly nice when he had the blindfold on and Ed could really focus on his mouth instead of being distracted (as he often is) by his eyes, constantly checking his reactions. And then of course getting to actually put the food in his mouth himself—and James had let him, hadn't even made a fuss, hadn't even _tried_ to do it himself, even though he could have, could have just asked Ed to pass him each cake. It's not like he would have had trouble locating his own mouth. But instead he'd just sat there waiting for it, lips beautifully parted, mouth beautifully open. It was better than Ed ever could have imagined. And then he _licked Ed's thumb_ —

And then fucking Nish fucking phoned and fucking ruined everything.

Though, if he's honest with himself, Ed was reaching his limit anyway. He's not sure he could have managed to feed James every last one of those cakes; it would've been torture. Especially with James loosening up like he was, going all limp against the sofa cushions, passive. His enjoyment was clear even if it wasn't as theatrical as it sometimes is. It was a different kind, languid and lazy, and Ed found it fascinating. The blindfold certainly had an interesting effect on him, it seemed to make him quieter, more timid, but it didn't seem like a _bad_ thing. Except, there was a moment, somewhere in the middle, when James froze up all of a sudden like he was having second thoughts. And even once he relaxed again, it only took a phone call to make him leap out of his skin, and it suddenly seemed like he couldn't wait to get rid of Ed. And Ed doesn't know what to make of that.

Until now, James has always been very easy-going about the whole thing. Ed wouldn't be doing this if he wasn't. He has to spend a lot of time reading James's reactions, because—well—it's not like they ever actually _talk_ about it. They joke about it sometimes when they're around other people, but when they're alone, when it's actually _happening_ , they never acknowledge it for what it is. Even though Ed is sure that James knows it's a sex thing. How could he not? Okay, Ed doesn't start whacking it right there with James in the room, he saves that for when he gets home, and he rarely gets physically aroused in the moment anyway (because he has _some_ self-control, thank you). But otherwise, he's not exactly trying to hide it, staring at James's lips the way he does and so on. He's sure it must be written all over his face.

And besides, what would James think this _was_ , if he didn't think it was a sex thing? Ed's not kidding himself, he knows it's not something everybody does with their friends, and he's aware he's been ramping it up lately, bringing stuff round to James's flat all the time so they have some privacy. If James had any doubt left, the blindfold should've finally tipped him off—and yet he agreed to that without much trouble, so Ed is pretty confident that James is a fully aware and consenting participant in this sex thing they're doing.

Of course, if he was a hundred percent sure, there'd be no problem in broaching the topic with James someday, but he can never quite bring himself to do that. He's thought about mentioning it once or twice, saying something like "Ooh, that's one for the wank bank," when James is being particularly obscene with an eclair, but he genuinely can't predict the reaction. He's honestly afraid that James wouldn't even realise that it wasn't entirely a joke. It would be just like him to laugh and roll his eyes and say "good one, Ed," and then what would Ed do?

The fact that Ed is so afraid of that must mean that he's _not_ so certain, and that makes him feel just awful, because if there's even a chance that James is actually clueless, he really ought to call the whole thing off until they've seriously discussed it. And yet he keeps going, and they keep not talking about it. And it's not that Ed is being selfish, and just wants it to continue because it's so fucking _good_. (Though it is—he came harder than ever replaying last night's events in his mind, recalling the way James's tongue had darted out to taste the cream on his thumb, the way it had _felt_ , imagining that tongue sweeping over his cock—)

It's that James is so awkward when it comes to sex things. He always has been. It's never a topic he wants to discuss, even on a booze-fuelled night out, when conversation topics get bawdy. Even his comedy is rarely blue. He will join in with more lewd talk, if he's goaded into it, but Ed can always sense his discomfort, his reluctance to say certain words, to say anything that might give anyone too clear of a picture in their mind's eye. And as much as Ed likes to fantasise, he has to admit it _is_ difficult to realistically imagine James going at it. He's so buttoned up, literally and metaphorically. Maybe that's partly the reason that Ed really wants to just—mess him up, sometimes, get him out of those mustard-coloured jumpers and those cords, and just make him go wild, make him lose it.

Even if James is into this too—which he _has_ to be, surely even _James_ wouldn't be going along with something like this purely out of politeness—Ed knows that trying to talk to him about it would be like pulling teeth. James would get awkward, and probably defensive, and they wouldn't get anywhere. James probably feels guilty for liking it, probably considers it deviant. He's always beating himself up over things, has a hard time just letting himself enjoy something if he can invent a reason why he shouldn't. Even food, which is one of his main pleasures in life, sometimes causes so much emotional turmoil that Ed finds it slightly alarming, and it's not like he doesn't have any experience himself with food-related shame and self-control issues. Sometimes Ed wonders if part of the reason James is so willing to go along with this whole thing is because it gives him an excuse to indulge his sweet tooth without having to feel responsible.

Whatever it is, Ed knows that trying to talk to him about it wouldn't be the right approach. As sketchy as it may seem, Ed has to just—try things, and see what happens. Try and interpret James's reactions. James, generally, is very easy to read, and Ed likes to think he's particularly good at reading him, so it's been going pretty swimmingly so far, but last night—last night was different. There were times when Ed honestly didn't know what to make of James's body language, or his tone of voice. And then his panic when they were interrupted. Maybe it was just guilt, at being caught in the midst of a sex thing, but whatever it was, Ed can't just ignore it. Maybe they've reached a limit. Whether it's because Ed can no longer judge how James is feeling, or because this is as much as James is comfortable with—maybe it's good that they're going to have a week to cool off.

Ed realises he's been standing motionless in the frozen foods aisle for several minutes, gazing at the ice cream without actually paying any attention to what he's looking at. Maybe it's the ice cream's fault that he can't stop thinking about James. The two are intrinsically linked in his brain. He shakes himself and is about to move on when he suddenly realises that, amongst the display, there's a flavour of Ben & Jerry's he's never seen before. He does a cartoonish double-take and peers through the glass at the—Pumpkin Cheesecake? That sounds like something you'd only get in America usually. He takes a closer look and sees the words 'limited edition' printed across the label. Maybe it's a special Thanksgiving flavour, though what it's doing in the UK, he can't imagine.

He realises he _has_ to text James about this. He doesn't even feel like he has a choice in the matter. He wipes some condensation off the glass of the freezer door, and fumbles for his phone, taking a quick picture of the tub. He hesitates over what to say in the text—it feels weird that this is going to be their first communication since what happened last night, but maybe it's better to just carry on as normal.

_Seen this one before?_ he types, and sends the picture along.

James's response comes almost immediately. _GASP_ , it says. Then, _BRING IT TO ME._

_You're at least 200 miles away, James,_ Ed reminds him, smiling at his phone.

_BUY IT FOR ME AND SAVE IT FOR WHEN I GET BACK?_ James suggests, which is more logical, but still—

_You could buy it yourself when you get back,_ Ed points out.

_WHAT IF THEY SELL OUT BY THEN??_ counters James, with a touch of hysteria.

Ed has a look and discovers that there are only two tubs left, so James has a point. He's tempted to buy them both—one for James and one for himself—but that seems greedy. He likes to imagine that James will be willing to share, even though past experience does not support this theory at all. He puts a single tub in his basket and then goes in search of dinner. As soon as he gets home he takes a photo of the ice cream sitting on his kitchen counter, and texts it to James.

_I love you,_ James replies simply, and Ed—doesn't know what to say to that.

A couple of days later, he's procrastinating, and gets the ice cream out again. He takes another photo of it, putting it on a different part of the work surface this time to differentiate between the two, and sends it to James. He captions it _Your ice cream can't wait for you to get back._

_I CAN'T WAIT TO EAT YOU, ICE CREAM,_ James replies, and Ed smiles stupidly at his phone.

Another couple of days go by, and then, a picture of the ice cream on his dining room table—

_Your ice cream is eagerly awaiting your return._

_I'M COUNTING THE SECONDS._

Ed takes a moment, then, to wonder if this is flirting. Probably he should be able to tell, but it's not that different from the way they usually text or Tweet each other, which means that either they're never flirting or they're _always_ flirting, and that's not something he can handle puzzling out right now. Things are plenty complicated as they are, he doesn't need to deal with _that_ question on top of everything else.

By the next day, it's beginning to get really hard not to eat the ice cream himself. It just sits there in his freezer, untouched, untouchable. Taunting him. After a night out he finds himself craving something sweet and cold, and can't resist any longer. A little drunk, he takes a blurry photo of it with the lid off and a spoon sticking out of the previously smooth, unbroken surface, and texts it to James with no caption.

_NO!!!!!!_ is the reply. _YOU TRAITOR._

Ed giggles and proceeds to take a selfie of him sticking a spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. He's so focused on the texting he almost isn't paying attention to the taste of the ice cream, and even when he swallows and realises how delicious it is, his first thought is simply that James is gonna _love_ it.

_How dare you,_ James demands.

_Just a couple of scoops,_ Ed replies, _I couldn't help myself._

_You're a monster._

Ed takes a brief video of him placing the lid back on and returning the tub to the freezer, giving it a little pat before he shuts the door. He sends it to James, captioned with an emoji of a smiley face with a halo. James replies with an angry face emoji and nothing else.

Ed knows that James has returned home the following day when he receives the text, _BRING ME THE ICE CREAM._ He'd like to say that he responds by explaining to James that he actually has a life, thanks, and doesn't exist solely to bring James sweet treats at his beck and call. He'd like to tell him he's got plans today and will bring the ice cream round another time, when it's convenient. Unfortunately, he has no plans, and therefore no valid reason not to immediately put the ice cream into a bag and leave. It's cold enough outside that he's not afraid of the ice cream melting before he gets to James's, and he finds he has a bit of a spring in his step as he sets off. Part of him is just glad James actually _wants_ to see him after what happened last time they were together, though he's aware it's more about the ice cream than anything else.

James opens the door and Ed can't help the way his heart does a little leap at the sight of him. It hasn't even been that long, but it's just—nice to see him again. Especially to see him looking so excited about puddings. That's just pure, undistilled Acaster, and it fills Ed's heart with sentimental joy.

"God, I've been waiting for this for so long," James says, with feeling, immediately making grabby hands for the ice cream.

"Yes, it has been six whole days," says Ed. "Good to see you too, by the way. How's the tour going?"

James makes a gesture like, _eh, whatever_ , taking the ice cream and heading straight for the kitchen, leaving Ed to follow him. Ed can't help but laugh. A James in pursuit of ice cream is an unstoppable force. He shuts the door behind him and heads through to the kitchen, where James is rummaging around violently in a drawer for a spoon.

"Remember when they sent us those free tubs because of the podcast?" he asks, bringing both ice cream and spoon over to the kitchen island and plonking them down.

"I do," Ed says patiently. "You mention it at _least_ weekly."

"Best day of my life," James tells him, for approximately the hundredth time, tearing off the lid of the ice cream with vigour.

Ed leans back against a cabinet to watch, arms folded as he looks James up and down, taking him in. He's wearing plaid pyjama trousers and a t-shirt bearing some obscure band's name, and it's strange to see him out of his usual button-down shirts and slacks—a dressed-down James is a rare sight, and Ed always appreciates it. He looks a little overtired from the week's work, but the prospect of ice cream has clearly revived him somewhat; his cheeks are slightly flushed, his eyes wide. He takes a moment to lean in over the ice cream and inhale deeply, his eyes falling shut, chin upturned as he breathes in.

Ed smiles as he watches. "Good?" he asks.

James just nods furiously, and then he's digging in. Despite Ed's previous forays into the tub, James manages to get a neat spoonful that looks like it has a decent amount of both the ice cream itself and the cookie swirl. He sticks the spoon into his mouth with a goofy little flourish, stepping back from the counter. He appears to be letting it melt slightly in his mouth, before he chews a little and swallows, his eyes falling shut almost blissfully.

"Well?" Ed prompts, after a long moment of silence.

James sighs deeply, a drunken sort of smile spreading across his face. "That...is _so_ good," he says. Then the smile abruptly drops. "God, why don't they—why can't we just have _all the flavours_ America has? It's so unfair—"

"I know, I know," Ed soothes, smiling a little at the beginnings of the rant he's heard so many times before. "Shush now, just enjoy that this one has made its way over here, all right?"

Instead of launching into the rest of his spiel, James just sighs and nods, and he looks—sort of distant, his eyes a bit glassy. Maybe he's even more tired than Ed thought. He shakes himself. "Yeah. You're right."

James goes back in, digging out another scoop and sucking it from the spoon, his lips curling into a smile again as he enjoys the taste of it. The cold seems to be making his lips more red than usual and it's very distracting. Ed watches intently, remembering the flavour of the ice cream, rich and thick, the slight tartness of the cream cheese and all those lovely autumn-winter spices, cinnamon and ginger and nutmeg. And the pumpkin, subtle but significant in its foreignness. He wants to say something about that, because it's not a flavour either of them comes across very often and it imparted something really unique that Ed would honestly quite like to talk about, but all he can think of saying is "How about that pumpkin flavour, huh?" Even those terribly eloquent words seem to be stuck in his throat as he watches James devour spoonful after spoonful of ice cream. He's so clearly enjoying it _so much_ and it's so—he just looks so—

"Hey James," says Ed, stepping forward.

"Mm?" says James, looking up from the ice cream, and Ed is honestly intending to say "How about that pumpkin flavour, huh?" but somehow what ends up happening instead is that he grabs James rather forcefully by the hips, pushes him backwards into his fridge—hard enough that it rattles—and kisses him somewhat violently on the mouth.

James makes a startled noise up against Ed's lips, a bit like a squeak but—sexier, and for a moment he's incredibly tense, his whole body going taut, muscles all stiff up against Ed's—and just as Ed is about to take that as a sign and pull away, James suddenly melts into it. Tension just pours out of his body and he goes completely lax, so utterly boneless that it's almost as if he's only being held upright by the hard surface behind him and the press of Ed's body.

_Oh,_ Ed thinks vaguely, as James's lips part for Ed's tongue, and his mouth is _cold_ , and it's absolutely thrilling. He tastes like sugar and ginger and cream, and Ed finds himself wondering idiotically if he might need to inject for this, because surely it's too sweet and too delectable to be _allowed_. James is slow to reciprocate but when he does it's so wonderful that Ed might go a little weak in the knees as well, when James starts kissing him sort of urgently, as if he _needs_ it. As if this is even better than the ice cream, which is high praise indeed. Ed presses his fingertips into the soft flannel at James's hips, and licks into his cold mouth, warms it with his tongue, and it's so good, it's amazing, god, why is this only happening now? Why haven't they been doing this all along?

And then all too quickly it's over, because James is suddenly squeezing out from between Ed and the fridge, almost tripping over his feet as he stumbles away, putting a good couple of metres of space between them. He's looking at the floor and has two fingers pressed against his mouth and for a long moment he's just standing there like that, not saying anything, and Ed is about to ask if he's okay when—

"Ummmm," says James, which doesn't exactly clear anything up. He holds out one hand, at arm's length, as if Ed is going to lunge at him again and he needs to protect himself against such a thing. His other hand is raking agitatedly through his hair.

"Um?" Ed echoes uncertainly.

"That was—this is—" James stammers, clearly struggling. "Listen," he tries again, gripping a fierce handful of hair as if he's going to yank it right out of his scalp, and then says nothing for a very long time.

"Yes?" Ed prompts.

"I—" says James, and then, within an instant, he's just—gone. Like, literally gone. He has fled from his own flat, leaving Ed alone there. Leaving the _ice cream_ even, which is arguably much more serious. Ed listens to the front door banging shut, and stands there motionless for a good thirty seconds or so wondering what the fuck just happened.

"Okay," he says aloud. "Well." He stares at the spoon left abandoned on the countertop, melted ice cream dripping slowly from it. "Fuck," he adds.

He could go after him, he supposes. That's what would happen if this were a film. It would be all dramatic and romantic. But in reality when someone runs away from you, the right thing to do is probably leave them be. He expects James needs some space.

Ed frowns, watching the little puddle of melted ice cream slowly forming on the counter under the spoon. A feeling of regret begins to dawn on him. Of _course_ you can't just grab James Acaster and kiss him, no matter how much you might really really want to in the heat of the moment. James is skittish. He'll flinch if you so much as tap him on the shoulder when he's not expecting it, you have to deal with him like he's a wild deer or something. Of _course_ Ed has scared him off. He should have thought things through, been super gentle about it, maybe even said "I'm gonna kiss you now" beforehand—except, he didn't even know he was gonna do it until suddenly it was happening. And there was a moment, a beautiful blissful moment when James was kissing him back, but then—

Then he needed space.

Ed tries to be philosophical about it, because probably that's all it is. He caught him by surprise, and he's going to need a bit of time on his own to muddle through some things.

Or else Ed just made one of the biggest mistakes of his life. It could go either way.

 

* * *

 

James's efforts to run away from the situation are swiftly thwarted by the fact that they're due to record an episode of Just Puddings a few days later. It is _extremely_ unfortunate timing. He spends those few days unable to think about anything else, distracted during meetings and interviews and struggling to enjoy his free time, checking his phone embarrassingly often to see if Ed might have texted him. He doesn't know what he's _expecting_. A "sorry for snogging your face off the other day" would be much appreciated, or even just a casual text about something completely unrelated, a link to a tweet about elephants, a dumb meme, anything. James would even take a "wanna bang?" at this point. At least then he'd know where Ed stands.

Finally, he checks his phone and finds the much-awaited text notification, his heart leaping when he sees Ed's name. Unfortunately, it's a message sent to the Just Puddings WhatsApp group and all it says is "are we still on for tomorrow?" He broods over it for so long, trying to find some meaning in the words other than the obvious, that he ends up the last person to respond. He reluctantly joins in with the chorus of "yeah"s and then continues to stare at his phone for longer than is strictly sane, waiting to see if Ed is going to say anything else. He starts entertaining wild theories like maybe Ed has somehow been unable to use his phone for three entire days and now that he's sent a business-related text, a personal one is sure to follow any minute now. James opens their one-on-one conversation in anticipation but no further messages come through and he ends up just re-reading their banter about the ice cream and making himself feel even worse.

He thought that contact from Ed—any kind of contact—would be better than the torture of the radio silence, but he discovers he was wrong. The fact that Ed merely asked a casual question—and not even to James directly!—makes James feel like he's going crazy. How can Ed not even _acknowledge_ it, even when they're going to have to see each other tomorrow? Is James the only one who's completely losing his shit, while Ed cheerfully goes about his life as if nothing at all out of the ordinary has happened? Does Ed regularly shove his friends into kitchen appliances and make out with them? How can it not even be worth _mentioning?!_

Perhaps James doesn't have a right to complain, though, after running away like that. Maybe he's the one who owes Ed an apology; maybe Ed is waiting by the phone just like James is. But did James really do anything wrong, technically? Is it _wrong_ to leave a guest alone in your flat in order to go and hyperventilate in the stairwell for a few minutes, before suddenly realising you might be followed, making a run for the streets instead, and then wandering aimlessly until you're sure they'll be gone by the time you return? Maybe it's an unorthodox reaction to being kissed, but James isn't sure it's something he needs to apologise for. He was provoked!

Because really, you shouldn't just grab someone and make out with them while they're innocently enjoying some ice cream, especially not when it's a limited-edition flavour of Ben & Jerry's that they're experiencing for the very first time. At the very least it's inconsiderate. James knows the situation is seriously dire because the ice cream is still sitting in his freezer unfinished three days later. (He got home to find it there; Ed had thoughtfully put it away before leaving, so that was something at least.) He keeps trying to eat some more, but every time he's reminded of the kiss. Probably he's never going to be able to eat anything pumpkin-flavoured ever again without thinking of Ed's mouth. And he very much needs to not think about Ed's mouth ever.

He made the mistake of masturbating about the Blindfold Incident one night during tour, when he got a little tipsy after a particularly good gig and wasn't thinking, found his hand drifting beneath the sheets and his thoughts drifting to Ed. He realised immediately after coming that he definitely shouldn't let _that_ happen again. Since implementing this new rule he hasn't touched himself at all, because he doesn't trust his own brain, especially after the kiss.

He never even let himself think about the possibility of a kiss ever happening, so it sort of bowled him over, and he feels completely unprepared for how to handle it. All this time spent wondering if Ed was getting something sexual out of these little pudding-eating sessions, but he never once imagined him _acting_ on anything. He thought if it was anything it was the food, really. James himself is just the conduit. And it's only James because he's such a sugar addict and also, apparently, such a happy-go-lucky scamp that he's willing to get himself entangled in these sorts of questionable situations. It's typical of him, really. It could almost be another one of his classic scrapes. He could never actually tell Josh about it, because it would be instantly obvious who he was talking about, but he can hear his laughter and mockery in his head anyway—"How were you _not sure_ that it was a fetish? Oh my god, James, it's so obvious. Of course they ended up kissing you, what were you expecting?! You'd been their masturbation material all this time!"

But it's not actually about _James_ , surely. Ed isn't _attracted_ to James. He's just attracted to the way he eats puddings. Somehow. Or something. James doesn't know how fetishes work! But he can only assume that the way he was eating that ice cream was simply _too damn sexy_ and Ed lost his mind for a second. James isn't going to hold it against him. Sometimes when you're really horny your brain stops working right. Everyone's been there.

The thing is, that's the only interpretation of events that James can actually deal with. He doesn't know what to do with the idea that Ed might actually want more from the arrangement, that he could have an interest in doing _other_ things to James besides giving him sweets. Every time James tries to think about it his thoughts just screech to a halt. It's too much to consider. It's too _scary_. What if they had sex and it was a complete disaster and they never wanted to speak to each other ever again? James wants them to stay mates, and he's not naïve, he knows that sleeping with your friends is often a very good way to end up losing them. Besides, at the very least they're working on projects together and have a professional relationship that he doesn't want to compromise.

He doesn't want to think about it but the truth is, he's afraid of the alternative almost just as much. What if they have sex and it's _amazing?_ What if they... _fall in love?_ The kiss felt so good he honestly doesn't know how to deal with it. He can't have that in his life. It's too good. It's too much. That sort of happiness isn't for people like him, it's for other people, well-adjusted people who have normal lives, regular jobs and fewer emotional difficulties.

Maybe filming an episode of Just Puddings is exactly what they need. Maybe it's a good way of drawing a line in the sand. Things are getting out of hand since they started taking part in these private tasting sessions and frankly, it's causing too much trouble. They should only ever do these things in public and on camera, because clearly they can't be trusted otherwise. Food things need to stay strictly professional, they need structure, and—witnesses. They need people to keep them in check, apparently, or—or who knows what might happen?

(He's fully aware that it's utter nonsense to imagine they'd ever be able to avoid anything food-related outside of work. Food is such a major part of their friendship. What would they even talk about if they couldn't talk about food? Where would they go, if they couldn't go to restaurants? Their friendship would effectively be over, and that's something James can't even begin to even comprehend, but. They're going to at least have to try and come up with some new rules, guidelines, if they want to stay friends and not risk becoming anything more than that.)

At least they're not recording an episode of the podcast today, which had been an option when they were looking at their schedules for free days that lined up. They ended up deciding they had enough episodes of Off Menu in the bank and that the neglected web series should take priority, and James is grateful for their prior organisation in doing as much podcast work as they could whenever they were both free, because the thought of sitting there with only Ed and Benito and some poor oblivious person trying to describe their dream meal—it doesn't bear thinking about. At least for Just Puddings they'll be in public, surrounded by a crew. It feels safer.

They are due to meet up at a place that specialises in bubble waffles, simply because past-James thought they looked fun. Present-James thinks more cocktails would have been a better choice so he would be able to drink to settle his nerves, but no. Waffles it is.

It's 11 in the morning and James hasn't managed to have any breakfast because he feels too queasy, which isn't a great sign. He deliberately shows up late so as to be sure that the crew will have arrived and he won't have to face Ed alone, which he knows is cowardly. He's going to have to speak to Ed privately at _some_ point, but he's hoping that this will be a way to ease into it. They can do their usual double act thing and dispel any remaining tension and then things can go back to normal. As offended as he is by the notion of Ed thinking the kiss was no big deal, there is something tempting about the idea of taking the easy way out and never discussing it at all. Pretending like it never even happened.

James's heart sort of twinges at that thought, which is annoying. Of course he wants to kiss Ed again! Of course he wants to do more than just kiss him! But what we want isn't always what's best for us, he reminds himself staunchly. Sometimes you have to quell your desires and just be _sensible_.

He actually arrives so late that they're already filming Ed's little intro by the time he shows up, which he feels equal parts guilty and relieved about. At least now he can just dive right into it and get it over with.

"Hey," he says to Ed once they're done, adding an awkward little wave for no reason.

"Hey!" says Ed with more enthusiasm, gesturing for him to come over. James does so and notices that Ed shoots him a nervous sort of look, as if he needs to be treated with care after what happened, like if Ed says the wrong thing he might panic and flee once again. "How's it going?"

"Good. Good. Ready to get my bubble waffle on," James says stupidly. He discovers then that it's incredibly difficult to actually look Ed in the eye, which could potentially cause some problems.

Ed laughs good-naturedly and points to the menu board up above the counter, apparently having ascertained that James will be staying put for now. James immediately expresses interest in the banana flavour, because bananas are always one of his first ports of call. He's expecting Ed to say something like "Okay, but this isn't about what _you_ want, though," and pick something for him, like he usually does, which always makes James's stomach go all twisty for reasons he doesn't understand and absolutely doesn't want to analyse, thank you very much. But to his surprise, Ed lets him have the banana one. Maybe it's a gesture of some sort. Maybe it's just because it was James's idea to come here and Ed doesn't actually give a shit about bubble waffles.

There is some awkward standing around while the waffle is prepared, and Ed thankfully decides to fill the time by telling the viewers what a bubble waffle is, and explaining how neither of them have ever tried one before. James just stares into the camera as Ed talks so as not to have to look at him.

"And James has graciously agreed to offer up his mouth—his—his taste buds—" Ed stumbles here but manages to rescue it, "and let me experience the magic of a bubble waffle through the power of language."

Finally the waffle is ready and James takes it eagerly, grateful for a distraction though he still doesn't feel particularly hungry. But ah, banana puddings are so great. Whoever first had the idea of using bananas in sweet foods was a genius and James would like to go back in time and give them a big old smooch. _Don't think about kissing!!_ he scolds himself immediately, almost choking on his first bite as he accidentally reminds himself of the feel of Ed's lips on his own.

He can't let himself start thinking about the kiss because he always goes into a bit of a spiral whenever he does. It's hard to restrain himself from replaying the whole thing in his mind, and if he dwells on it too much, he starts—well—getting excited, remembering the force with which Ed had grabbed him, like he was overwhelmed, like he couldn't control himself. Then he starts thinking about how strong Ed seemed, holding James still, and the sureness in his kiss, the warmth of his mouth. It's all so very dangerous, James has to blacklist the topic of kissing entirely from his brain.

But this is safe, he tells himself. They're in public and there are strangers and a crew and they're being _filmed_. No way he's getting turned on under _these_ circumstances. Surely.

"You all right there?" Ed asks, and maybe he's mocking him a little bit, but there's genuine concern there too, his voice gentle.

James glowers at his waffle. "Yup," he says tersely, and takes a second, more vicious bite, to prove it.

"Wow, he's really going to town on this one," Ed commentates.

James knows him well enough to be able to tell that he's feeling awkward despite his blustering, and he finds it reassuring if he's honest. At least _both_ of them are struggling. He's getting the impression now that Ed might be feeling a bit guilty about what happened, like maybe he regrets it, and James tries to ignore the pang he feels in his heart at that thought, tries to remind himself that's a _good_ thing, because that means neither of them think it should happen again. They're on the same page. That will make the whole thing a lot easier to move past.

"Talk to us, James, how's it tasting?" says Ed, bringing James out of his thoughts.

"Good," says James with his mouth full. He's aware that this is not the sort of scintillating description people expect from Just Puddings, but honestly his mind is completely blank. Or rather, it's full of Ed.

"Wanna elaborate on that, mate?" Ed suggests.

James genuinely can't think of anything to say. It's a waffle and it has banana slices in it, and also some Nutella. It's _nice_ , but a little underwhelming, and he can't say that, not while the people who made it for him are in earshot.

"Bananas and Nutella are a good combination," he manages eventually, and everybody looks deeply unimpressed. Ed actually even looks concerned, like James might be broken.

"Wow, takes a lot to reduce James to such simplistic language," Ed says, for the sake of the egos of the poor waffle-makers. "It's so good it's knocked all the metaphors and similes right out of his brain!"

He laughs for a bit and it's very awkward. It's fairly obvious by now that this is not going to make for a nice, light-hearted little YouTube video, but they persist nonetheless.

"What's it remind you of, James?" Ed's practically pleading with his eyes, now, begging James to come up with something whimsical and poetic that will make this whole thing worth filming.

"Uh," says James. He takes another bite to give himself some more time to think but really, all it reminds him of is waffles and bananas and Nutella. "Pancakes?" he blurts out in a bit of a panic.

"Oh, yeah?" Ed asks, making a valiant effort to look interested, as if James has said something very thought-provoking and wise, instead of just lazily comparing waffles to their closest relative.

"Mm, banana pancakes, you know," James goes on. Oh, god. This is horrendous.

"Shall we—shall we try another one?" Ed asks desperately, turning to the woman behind the counter. James isn't even halfway through the first. "Can we get, uh, a more chocolatey one this time, please?" He turns back to James. "I'd like you to try a more chocolatey one, I think," he says, and he sounds less authoritative than usual, more apologetic.

The thought of having to stand around some more while the second waffle is constructed is too terrifying, so James escapes to the toilets. He looks at himself in the mirror and is dismayed to see how pale he looks, all drawn and pasty—this episode is already going to be a disaster in so many ways, he doesn't need to deal with commenters telling him how ill he looks on top of everything else. He takes some deep breaths and then splashes a bit of cold water on his face because that's what people do, isn't it, when they're in a bathroom having a crisis. Unfortunately it just makes him blotchy and damp, and does nothing to improve his emotional state. It's probably also not going to do a whole lot for the continuity.

God, this is all so ridiculous. He can do this! All he has to do is eat waffles and talk about them! It's not rocket science. He just has to grit his teeth, and keep all his crazy emotions in check, and get the hell on with it.

He storms out of the toilets again, bolstered by determination. Ed hands him the second waffle and their fingers touch, and James immediately flounders again, very nearly dropping the waffle on the floor because he's so flustered by the contact. He's such a disaster. This is such a disaster.

He looks at the waffle and is distracted from his despair by how delicious it looks, so he tries to focus on that—the puffy chocolate waffle wrapped around a filling of whipped cream and chocolate sauce and a scattering of chocolate chips. Even though he still feels a bit sick, it smells heavenly. Ed gives him a moment to just enjoy this one, which is lucky, because James still has not regained the power of speech. He feels sweaty and weird under the bright lights, the crew all staring at him like they're waiting for something, cameras pointed at him.

"What's the texture of the waffle like?" Ed asks then, as if James hasn't already eaten half of one. It's like they have all silently decided to leave the banana fiasco on the cutting room floor.

James manages to liken it to that giant bubble wrap you can get, which makes Ed smile, at least. The analogy starts to fall apart the longer he tries to stretch it out for, but that only serves to make it funnier, thankfully, and he begins to feel like maybe this is salvageable. Of course it would be a little awkward at first, that's not surprising, he shouldn't beat himself up about that. Ed kissed him on the mouth three days ago and they haven't said a word about it—who _wouldn't_ be uncomfortable in such a situation? Plus it's been a while since they did this, anyway, and their private sessions are not exactly comparable, so it's understandable if they're a little out of practice.

Maybe this'll be okay. Maybe they'll muddle through it, and then afterwards they can have a quick chat and just wipe the slate clean. Ed will explain that he just wasn't thinking straight, and James will forgive him, and maybe they'll even laugh about it, about how silly they were, and then they can carry on with their lives and everything will be fine.

Ed is still giggling at the bubble wrap nonsense, and it makes James smile—he loves trying to crack Ed up when they're doing this, because Ed tries so hard to be serious about the whole thing even when James is being blatantly ridiculous. James realises he's going to have to be the one to get things back on track, and tries to describe the texture of the waffle clearly, the crispy coating of the bubbles compared with the soft chewy interior.

"How can it be soft _and_ chewy?" Ed enquires. "Those are two different textures, aren't they?"

"Hashtag soft or chewy?" offers James, which makes Ed laugh again, which makes James's chest go all fluttery, which is stupid.

"Which one of you is soft and which one is chewy?" asks Stu.

They both hesitate.

"I think you're soft," says James, then immediately regrets saying anything at all.

Ed looks surprised. "Yeah? I was gonna say that you're soft and I'm chewy."

"No, I think I'm chewy," says James, and he doesn't know why he's being so insistent about something so ridiculous. He doesn't even know what his reasoning is except that Ed is just so _nice_ and tender and lovely, and James feels like he's—difficult. Tough to deal with. A challenge. If James had been the one to kiss Ed, Ed probably would have just kissed him back, no questions asked, and maybe they would have had a lovely time. But Ed kissed James, and James is having a nervous breakdown about it.

"All right," says Ed uncertainly, looking into the camera. "James can be a bit chewy. But when you get your teeth into him—" he cuts himself off abruptly, and James looks at him in alarm. "He's—he's soft on the inside," Ed says hurriedly.

"Hashtag soft on the inside," says James mindlessly. "Can I have another bite?"

"Go for it," says Ed, and James does so, gladly. "What about the filling? Can you describe that for me?"

James should maybe be annoyed by his tone of voice, because he's being sort of patronising, but instead he feels a little shiver run through him. It's the "for me" that does it, he thinks. Of course, that's what this is all supposed to be about. James is doing this _for_ Ed. He lost sight of that for a moment, because it's not _really_ how they make it seem—Ed will often have a little taste of whatever it is they're trying, once the cameras have stopped rolling; he's not as limited by his condition as they make him out to be so that the concept makes sense. But in the context of this silly little web series, Ed _needs_ James, James is doing him a service, and that's what it's all about. And James can't put his finger on why, exactly, but the reminder of that makes his tummy go all funny.

James stumbles through a clumsy description of the filling, and he's so obviously distracted, and the knowledge of that is just making him even more distracted, tripping over his words and saying shit that he's pretty sure doesn't even make any sense. It's all starting to go downhill again, just when James was starting to have hope. Ed is doing that thing he does sometimes where he just stands back and watches James as if he's observing a rare creature in the wild, and it does not help matters one bit. James just feels—scrutinised, and he starts wondering what Ed's thinking, if maybe _he_ can't stop thinking about the kiss as well. Maybe James is eating sexily without realising and Ed wants to kiss him again. Maybe James wouldn't stop him if he did.

James's rational thoughts are dropping like flies. He tries to get a grip, but now Ed is looking at him like he'd be seconds away from pushing him up against a fridge if there happened to be one around. He's sure it didn't used to feel like this, when they filmed the other episodes. Ed's always looked at him pretty intensely but it feels _different_ now. Everything they've done in the privacy of James's flat has changed things, and now this feels like something they shouldn't be doing in public. James is suddenly afraid that everybody can _see_ —see that both of them are getting something out of this that isn't entirely wholesome.

"Why don't you get some more of that cream down you?" Ed suggests then, and James nearly starts choking again. He can't help shooting him a Look, and when their eyes meet both of them almost break—Ed looks somehow cheeky and apologetic at the same time, biting his lip, his eyes sparkling mischievously. It sends a little frisson of something through James's whole body and suddenly he wants to throw caution to the wind and just grab Ed and make out with him immediately.

He _wouldn't_ , of course, but that doesn't mean the urge isn't alarmingly strong. He realises he no longer has any interest in trying to talk to Ed after this and being practical about things; he just wants to get him somewhere private and kiss him some more. And he can _see_ in Ed's eyes that Ed wants that too. He swears he's not imagining it, there's a twinkle there that tells him they're on exactly the same wavelength. He knows, he _knows_ he had reasons why more kissing was a bad idea, but right now he can't quite put his finger on any of them. To be fair he's not exactly trying, he's mainly wondering if maybe they could sneak into the toilets after this without drawing too much attention to themselves. Maybe Ed could push him up against a door, or a mirror, or—or crowd him in between two sinks—

_God._ He has to get a hold of himself. He looks away as he takes another bite of the waffle, barely tasting it. He takes another bite as soon as he's finished chewing, just so that he has an excuse not to have to say anything.

"Ooh, he's a hungry boy today, isn't he?" Ed commentates playfully, and it's not even—that shouldn't make James go so hot and twitchy, but—

" _Ed_ ," James whines, actually _whines_ , and as soon as he does it, as soon as he hears it come out of his mouth, he regrets it so intensely he wants to stab himself in the face. It's a tone of voice that does not belong outside of the bedroom and the fact that everybody here just heard it is humiliating. Ed is just looking at him, sort of stunned but also sort of curious, and the crew are all just trying _not_ to look at him, and he can feel his cheeks getting really, really hot, and it's awful. How can he fix this?

"Yes, I am quite hungry, actually," he says eventually, in a weird, stilted sort of way, picking a camera at random and staring fixedly into it.

"Uh, James," Ed attempts, but James studiously ignores him, panic rising in his throat at the thought of all the things he could be about to say.

"Because...I didn't have breakfast this morning," James goes on, determinedly. Apparently it is imperative that he communicates this to their viewers.

"J—" Ed starts again, fruitlessly trying to get James's attention as James soldiers on with his totally uninteresting monologue.

"So, technically, _this_ is my breakfa—" is as far as James gets with his next sentence, because suddenly Ed is reaching for him, reaching for his _face_ , touching his thumb to the corner of James's lip, quick as a flash.

It all happens in a nanosecond and it feels like his brain just fills with exclamation points for the duration, so James can't really say how he reacts. He would have to review the footage to find out for sure, but he will never do that. Possibly he will find a way to destroy it, in fact, because he _thinks_ that instead of flinching, like a normal person, like he _normally would_ —he thinks he may have very, very slightly leaned in towards the touch. Perhaps he was just turning his head in confusion, and that's why Ed's thumb slid across his lips like that, but he has a horrible feeling that is not the case.

"You had, um," says Ed, looking very sheepish, wiping his thumb on a napkin.

James tries to say something like "oh" or "thanks" or "maybe don't assault people's lips with your thumbs thank you very much" but no words are coming out of his mouth at all. Literally none. He thinks he might be moving his mouth a bit, but it is not resulting in anything resembling speech, or even sound. Ed's eyes are bright and so are his cheeks and suddenly, despite the fact that James was struggling so much to look at Ed earlier, now he seems to be having trouble tearing his eyes away. Everything is very silent for a painfully long amount of time, and then somebody clears their throat.

"Er," says Stu, "shall we just call it a day?"

This seems like a good call. Probably it was a lost cause from the beginning, but at least earlier it was only Ed and James who were aware of the tension—now it's everyone in the room. Possibly the awkward atmosphere is so intense that it extends beyond the café and there are people walking past outside wondering why they feel so uncomfortable. James feels bad for wasting everybody's time, but mostly he just feels embarrassed about how obvious they're being. Probably everybody's thinking that he and Ed need to get a room. And, well, they're right, but some of these people are his friends and some of them are complete strangers and he's not sure which is worse. Either way he feels totally transparent.

"D'you know what, I think that might be for the best," says Ed. He looks over at the crew but his eyes keep darting back to James. "We're not on top form today, I'm afraid, fellas."

_Not on top form_. Understatement of the year. James is on absolute rock bottom form. All he can think about is Ed's tongue in his mouth and it's rendered him utterly useless.

The crew start mumbling about how they've got places to be anyway, and thanking the staff for their time, and within moments they're all gone, packing up impressively fast and getting the hell out. Ed insists on paying for the waffles. James tries his best, he really does, but when he says "No, Ed, please, you don't have to," Ed just says "Yeah, but I want to, though," and James doesn't really know how to argue with that. So he hangs back by the door while Ed deals with it, no doubt giving them a little extra for putting up with the whole debacle.

"So that was a disaster," says James when Ed returns, because someone has to acknowledge it. He looks at him nervously out of the corner of his eye, unsure of how to proceed. Suddenly the idea of dragging Ed into the toilets seems like an insane pipe dream. He can't possibly. Not under the watchful eye of the waffle-makers, who are clearly waiting for them to leave.

"Ha, tell me about it," Ed agrees. "The editors will probably be able to cobble together something decent out of it, though."

James very much doubts this and suspects Ed is only saying it to make him feel better. "Best of luck to 'em," he says, shaking his head.

"Can we—listen, I've got to get to a meeting, but can we just, like—have a word real quick?" They both glance around; now that the crew are gone the café is empty apart from them and the staff, who are still looking at them like they're waiting to see what'll happen next. The cashier in particular isn't even being subtle about it, but James can't blame her; the two of them probably seem like maniacs. "Like, somewhere a bit more private?"

James's heart leaps into his throat, which isn't an ideal thing to happen when he's just eaten so much waffle. "Yes," he says immediately. He can't believe how eager he is to be alone with Ed when this morning the thought made him want to throw up with nerves and he was relieved to be surrounded by other people.

"Technically this is _less_ private," James points out once they're outside, gesturing at passers-by.

"Well yeah, but we're away from Eavesdrop McGee in there," Ed counters, and James has to laugh, even though his heart is still thundering away. He's back to being unable to look at Ed directly, his gaze skittering about every time their eyes meet.

"Listen," says Ed anxiously. "I've been trying to just—leave the ball in your court, give you time and all that. I was gonna just keep my mouth shut, I really was, but I—I'm losing my mind here." James is immensely reassured by this news. Ed _has_ been thinking about him, Ed _does_ understand how big of a deal all of this is. It's not just James who's been freaking the fuck out, and the relief of that discovery is overwhelming. "I think we've got to try and talk about it," Ed goes on, and James's heart feels like it starts doing somersaults.

"Yeah, no, of course," he agrees immediately, and now he definitely does feels sick, but he's also absolutely aching with hope and excitement. The combination is dizzying.

"Okay, so," says Ed. "I'm really sorry. I know I shouldn't have wound you up like that in there, sometimes things just come out and it's—I think it might be flirting? I think sometimes I'm flirting with you." He pauses, biting his lip for a second, giving this information some time to sink in. "I'm not saying I'm _trying_ to, or that I'm any good at it," he adds, "it just happens, and—"

"Oh," interrupts James, stunned. "It's flirting?"

This news maybe shouldn't be as shocking as it is—it's clearly just the preamble, not the main headline of what Ed is trying to get across—but for some reason James feels a bit like he's just been slapped in the face. _Flirting._ Of course. Has Ed been doing that all along? Has James been doing it _back?_ This explains so much.

"Yes," says Ed, "and I shouldn't, especially when we're supposed to be being professional, and especially when you're already all flustered anyway because I kissed you. Which I'm also sorry about, by the way." He takes a deep breath and then says, quite fast, "I'm sorry I kissed you."

"Oh," James hears himself saying faintly, "that's okay."

_Oh, that's okay_ —as if someone has apologised for bumping into him on the street, or told him they can't make it to a party, or something else similarly minuscule and insignificant. It's a completely ludicrous response to something as earth-shattering as that kiss, so James isn't surprised that Ed looks confused.

"It's okay?" Ed asks.

"Yep." James feels like his brain has stalled. He can't conjure up any other words. At one point he thinks he might have wanted an apology, but right now he can't imagine why, because it doesn't seem to make any sense at all. They're both just saying things that don't make any sense.

Ed studies him for a while, and James feels all jittery. "How do you mean that, though?" he asks eventually. "It's okay like no hard feelings? Or it's okay like—like—"

James says nothing for a very long time. He has to force himself to speak, the words are caught in his throat. "It's okay like...I liked it," he says finally. That's all he's _intending_ to say, but then all of a sudden, out of nowhere, there's more—"It's okay like I really really liked it and I want to do it again, I want to do it all the time, I think maybe I always did, and I just—I panicked! I just panicked. And I've been trying to make myself be sensible because really we should be sensible and we shouldn't—you know—but—" the words are just pouring out of him without his permission, without a filter, and he's gesticulating wildly, and it's very alarming and he can't make himself stop, "but I really fucking want to, god dammit, like— _so_ much, Ed."

He slams his hand over his mouth then just to shut himself up, and someone passing gives him a wide berth and a weird look.

"Hey," says Ed softly. He takes James by the arm and guides him along—a few steps up ahead past a Chinese takeaway is a deserted alleyway, which Ed gently tugs him into. His grip, light though it is, sends shockwaves through James. People are still walking by, but the two of them are tucked away from the bustling road now and it feels quieter, safer.

"Hey," Ed says again, and he's looking at James searchingly and his eyes are very blue and intense, "it's all right. Thank you for being honest with me."

James peels his hand off his face. "I didn't mean to," he admits in a small voice. "It just came out."

Ed laughs fondly and James wants to kiss him _so bad._ "Well. I appreciate it either way," he says. "I thought you were gonna go all weird and shifty and refuse to discuss it and we were just gonna be awkward around each other forever."

"No," says James, "I don't want that."

"Good. I don't want that either. 'Cause d'you know what, I'm actually not that sorry at all," says Ed warmly, smiling at him. James wants to kiss that stupid smile, and—and he's bloody well _gonna_. Fuck being sensible.

James takes Ed by the arm and drags him further down the alley, far enough down it that they're at least less noticeable, if not actually obscured from view. There are dumpsters, and it does not smell great, but James doesn't care, because he needs to kiss Ed so badly right now that he might actually die if he doesn't. Ed is just grinning at him, until James places his hands on Ed's chest, and then his expression changes into something much more interesting, and James takes a deep breath and goes for it. He's queasy from all that sugary food on an empty stomach and his heart is beating wildly against his ribcage and his stomach is all twisted up in knots of need and want, but he quashes all of it and focuses, cups Ed's face with shaky hands and presses their lips together.

As soon as he does it, his stomach sort of—soars, like that time he jumped out of a plane, like his internal organs are displaced, and that should be unpleasant especially when he already feels a bit sick but instead it's weirdly amazing. And then Ed is taking him by the wrists and kissing him back, calming James's pace, slowing it down, and that's pretty amazing too. Whenever James thought back to the kiss—whenever he accidentally recalled it despite his best efforts not to—he thought he must've been overreacting, thought it couldn't have been _that_ good, but he's startled to discover he was wrong, because it's just as good all over again. It feels like something is unfurling inside of him and the sensation is instantly addictive. His hands slip from Ed's face, and Ed takes him by the hips and very deftly eases James up against the grubby bricks, and James comes over all trembly.

Ed breaks the kiss without really moving away, lips brushing James's cheek. "You good?"

James can't help but laugh at the question, a silly sort of noise that bubbles up out of him, goofy and lame. "Um, _yeah_ , I'm good."

He can feel the heat between Ed's legs, and he bucks his hips forwards instinctively into it, embarrassed by his own neediness but reassured by the way Ed rubs up against him in response, a slow roll of his hips. He catches Ed's lips between his own again but Ed pulls back, so that James has to try again, which he does without thinking, ducking forwards to try and join their mouths. This time Ed lets him, but he only allows James to kiss him for a few seconds before pulling away again, grinning as he does it.

"Oh," says James. "You're a tease. I never knew that about you."

Ed grins wickedly and then kisses James's neck, and James's knees go all wobbly. "It's less that I'm a tease, and more that I don't think I should wank you off in an alley. Do you _want_ me to wank you off in an alley?"

James gives this question more thought than he probably should, reluctantly using his brain and remembering that they're in public, that there are people and traffic passing constantly by out on the street, and also that the alleyway is gross.

"Well. No," he says finally. Ed is still kissing his neck, and he rolls his head back against the cold brick, revelling in the feeling of Ed's mouth on the tender skin. The sensation goes straight to his groin and he squirms against the press of Ed's body. It feels like he can't get away and he loves it. "Does that mean you're gonna wank me off someplace else?" he asks hopefully. His voice sounds hoarse.

Annoyingly, Ed pulls away. He looks pained. It takes James a second to actually start listening to him, because he's too busy staring at his lips, which look all plump and rosy and wet. "—God, I want to, but I _really_ have to go. I'm already late—"

"Just cancel," says James immediately, and Ed laughs, soft and fond.

"You're a needy little thing, aren't you? Wouldn't believe this was the same boy who ran away from a kiss."

"Shut up," says James, and it sounds more petulant than he wants it to, but he can't really bring himself to care all that much because Ed is leaning in to kiss his neck again and it feels _so good_.

"I _really_ have to go," says Ed between kisses, and James makes a frustrated, whiny sound, clutching tightly to his hips. Ed pulls away. "Listen, we can—when are you next free? I can do tomorrow night."

James is supposed to be going out for dinner with Josie but there is no question that this takes precedence. "Yep, yes, tomorrow night, nothing on tomorrow night, tomorrow night is absolutely and totally free, no plans at all, nothing."

"You're gonna cancel on someone, aren't you?"

"Uhh, don't flatter yourself, Ed," James attempts, but Ed is leaning in to nuzzle in the crook of his neck again, brushing his lips ever-so-lightly against James's heated skin, and James might whimper and start grinding into Ed's body again.

"James, fuck," Ed says against his neck, and the feel of his breath makes James squirm again. "Control yourself," says Ed wryly.

" _You_ control yourself," James retorts weakly, "and stop chewing on my neck like an animal."

"You very obviously love it," says Ed reasonably, nipping at James's skin to prove a point, and James is annoyed to hear himself moan.

"Aren't you late for a meeting?" James reminds him.

"Fuck," says Ed in an anguished voice. "Fuck, okay, just—"

He captures James's mouth again and they kiss for—not long enough, Ed ever-so-lightly grazing his teeth on James's bottom lip as he pulls away. He separates their bodies and it feels wrong to be parted, James feels all cold and unpleasantly free. The pressure and weight of Ed's body pinning him against the wall was so _good_ and he doesn't even know why. But now Ed is standing back, and grinning in a sort of bashful way that James isn't sure he's ever seen before and rather likes.

"I'm going. I'm going. I _really_ have to go. Believe me, I don't want to, it's just—"

"Important, yeah," James interrupts. "It's cool, it's fine."

He's aware that this is probably not convincing, that he must look a bit of a mess. Ravished, potentially.

"Tomorrow night," he says.

"Tomorrow night," Ed echoes, and turns on his heel and strides away up the alley, only hobbling slightly.

James has to stand there for a full three minutes calming himself down before he feels able to follow, regretfully setting off in the opposite direction, back home.


	2. Chapter 2

Ed shows up at James's the following night with a shopping bag in one hand.

"What's all that?" James asks as soon as he opens the door.

Ed taps the side of his nose. "Well, that would ruin the surprise, wouldn't it," he says, and sees how James's brow furrows. "Don't worry, it's all stuff you like. I promise."

He did warn James that he was planning _something_ —texted him this morning telling him there was something specific he wanted to do with him tonight, to which James had replied, _well that doesn't sound ominous at all._ Ed asked him if he'd be up for some more food-tasting, and James instantly just texted back, _you're so weird,_ but when prompted with _is that a yes or a no?_ he eventually sent back a coy _...yes_.

And so Ed had gone shopping, gathering together several of James's favourite treats and packing them up in the bag he's holding currently. Maybe James wasn't expecting a whole bag full of stuff; maybe he was expecting Ed to show up with a single thing for him to try and now he's curious about where this is going. But, he's going to have to remain curious, because Ed isn't planning on letting James see any of it—tucked away at the bottom of the bag is the eye mask they used last time.

To be fair, there's no real need for the blindfold to be involved—initially it was just an excuse he came up with in order to be able to feed James himself, and now he thinks it wouldn't take too much persuading for James to allow such a thing even if he weren't incapacitated. But he's discovered that there's much more to it than that. For one thing he really does think that it helps to make the flavours stronger, and he likes the idea of James experiencing the food more intensely than usual, especially for what he's got planned. He wants it to be such an overwhelming sensory experience, wants James to be overcome by sensation. And there's also something about the fact that James doesn't know exactly what's coming—he's still not sure what he likes about that, but there's something strangely appealing about making him a bit vulnerable.

But perhaps most importantly, it seemed like _James_ responded positively to the blindfold as well. Ed didn't really have a chance to figure it all out, but he got a taste of it—the way it seemed to make James go all relaxed in a peculiar sort of way that Ed hasn't seen very often. It was only brief, but it was very intriguing and Ed wants to explore it further. The only other times he's seen James quite like that is when they've gone out and James has eaten too much, and then afterwards he's in something of a food coma, all lethargic. Ed doesn't know why, but he rather likes James that way. They'll get back to whoever's flat or hotel and James will just flop into the nearest armchair or sofa, his long limbs floppy as he stretches out. He'll go all quiet and docile, and be weirdly more receptive to touch than he normally is, letting Ed ruffle his hair or rub his shoulder soothingly (what Ed always _really_ wants to do is rub James's stomach, but he knows that would be crossing a line). And when Ed says things like "Think you overdid it a bit, tonight, James," or "Got a bit too full, eh?" in a caring but stern sort of way, James will just nod in vague agreement, and sigh.

Ed isn't entirely sure James will be okay with wearing the blindfold without knowing what he's going to be given, so he's a bit apprehensive about bringing it up. He's spent all day thinking about this (all right, he's been thinking about it for a lot longer than that) and now that he's actually here, it all feels very _real_ all of a sudden. Looking at James standing in front of him, he sort of can't believe this might be about to actually happen. It's especially exciting considering how convinced he was that he'd totally fucked everything up, only a few days ago. There was a period where he was genuinely worried he might have ruined their friendship, and while it was brief, it was pretty much terrifying and he was just barely holding himself together the entire time. He only managed it by constantly telling himself it would all be okay, that even if James was somehow upset or angry about the kiss they would work through it eventually.

And then when he saw him again something weird happened where it was like he couldn't control his own actions and even though James was clearly uncomfortable, Ed went ahead and continued blatantly flirting with him anyway, as if he was actually _trying_ to make things worse. It was his anxiety getting the better of him, maybe, coupled with the fact that he really does seem to instinctively flirt with James all the time without actually intending to. Besides, Just Puddings is always so ripe for innuendo _anyway_ , what was he supposed to do? But, thank god, it all worked out okay in the end. More than okay. _God_ , it was so hard to walk away from that alley—James had said otherwise but Ed honestly believed that he was mere minutes away from letting Ed stick his hand down his pants right there and then. The way he was rubbing up against him, making those little noises—Ed's never had to use so much self-control in his life, walking away from _that_.

And now James is standing before him once again, much more reticent than the last time Ed saw him. He's in one of his usual outfits (cords and a long-sleeved button-down shirt) and apart from the fact that he's barefoot, he looks somehow more polished than usual. Ed can't put his finger on it but he looks like he might have taken a bit of extra care with his appearance today, knowing what was planned for the evening. He's peering at Ed shyly from beneath his fringe, like he's remembering yesterday too, remembering that Ed saw him that way and feeling self-conscious about it now, even though they both know why Ed is here. There's a sort of tension crackling in the air like they're both intensely aware of the unfinished business between them.

Well, no time like the present.

"All right, so," Ed says, rummaging in the bag for a moment before pulling out the blindfold. "I'd like you to put this on."

James's expression instantly turns irritated. "Oh, is that how it is?" he says huffily. "Straight to business, huh? Not even gonna give me a kiss first? Not even gonna say please? I'm not your—not your _food slave_ , you know—"

Ed cuts him off, placing the bag on the floor and grabbing him firmly by the shoulders, kissing him deep. James's protests die on his lips as he immediately melts into the kiss, going all pliant under Ed's hands. Ed can't get enough of the way he changes as soon as their lips touch, it's like flipping a switch. He goes from his normal self, a little bit touchy and guarded, to some sort of pleasure-seeking hussy. It's incredible. James's arms fall around Ed's waist and hold him close as he prolongs the kiss, sort of sighing against Ed's mouth like this is something he's been waiting for, something he needed. When Ed starts to withdraw James just leans in, chasing the kiss, wanting more, until finally Ed slides a hand up into his hair and very lightly tugs, pulling James's head back. James gasps at that, a startled noise that Ed thinks might just mean something else as well. He files _that_ away for future reference.

"I'd like you to put this on, _please_ ," he says, making his voice a little more firm as he presses the blindfold into James's hand. "Go and sit on the sofa, yeah? And wait for me."

James grumbles a bit but goes, slinking off into the living room. Ed shrugs off his jacket and heads for the kitchen instead, his heart racing. He tries to calm down a bit as he places the bag carefully on the worktop and starts unpacking it. He'd spent a good portion of his afternoon traipsing round London collecting all these treats. He actually already had some of the special New Zealand-brand peanut butter chocolate, hidden away as an emergency gift for James. There aren't many places in the UK where you can buy it and James won't let anyone tell him the names of the shops, doesn't trust himself not to become obsessed and buy every last bar. So Ed likes to go and get some occasionally and stash it away for when he's stuck on what to get James for Christmas or his birthday, or just for when James is feeling particularly down and needs cheering up.

He bought some ice cream, of course, a tub of Ben & Jerry's in one of James's favourite flavours, and also some salted caramel sauce. And he went to a particular bakery he remembered James talking about, and picked out a selection of little cakes. There were a lot of options there and it was hard to decide what James might like the best, but in the end these seemed like the right choice. They're not quite as elaborate as the last ones he bought him, but they seem suitable for Ed's purposes—small enough to be finger food, and topped with icing or sandwiched with mousse to add an extra dimension of texture and hopefully, make them just messy enough that James might end up needing to lick Ed's fingers again.

He even bought some shockingly expensive whiskey from a specialist shop in Soho. It doesn't quite fit with the rest of the treats, but he likes the idea of adding some alcohol into the mix, something strong to cut through all the sugar and loosen James up a little bit more. He puzzled over all the choices for ages and ended up giving a shop assistant the names of the brands he knows James drinks, so he could get an appropriate recommendation. He wanted it to be _good_ , the kind of good that James would really notice, even without seeing the bottle.

He roots around a bit for something to display everything on, and manages to find a tray—a baking tray, admittedly, but it'll do. He spreads out the contents of his bag and then tries to think ahead, work out what he'll need. He adds a couple of spoons for the ice cream and the sauce, thinks about getting a glass for the whiskey and then imagines James's lips wrapped around the neck of the bottle and _oh_ , that's much better.

"Oh, go ahead, take your time," James yells from the living room. "I'll just sit here blindfolded while you dick around doing god-knows-what in my kitchen. This is so much fun for me. Your seduction techniques are unparalleled!"

Ed grins. "You know what they say, James, good things come to those who wait," he calls back.

He takes the little cakes out of their packaging, finds a plate to put them on, and then removes the lids from the ice cream and the sauce, James continuing to bitch half-heartedly at him the entire time. Ed looks at the tray and then suddenly thinks of something else. He hurries into James's bathroom, opens a cupboard and grabs a flannel, runs it under the tap for a moment and then squeezes it out so it's damp. He returns to the kitchen and places it in a small bowl, adding it to the other things on the tray, just in case things get messy. If they're gonna do this, they might as well do it _properly_ , and he doesn't want to have to interrupt the proceedings for any reason. That gives him another thought.

"James, is your phone on silent?" he asks as he carefully lifts up the tray, manoeuvring it out of the kitchen and into the living room.

"Already thought of that," James replies with a little laugh.

Ed is pleased to see that he has done as he's told, despite the fussing—he's sitting up straight on the sofa, blindfold on, arms crossed.

"Are you done, finally?" James asks.

"I am," says Ed, carefully shifting some random things on the coffee table out of the way with the tray to make space.

"I can hear things clinking," says James.

"Yep," agrees Ed, rounding the table to come sit down next to him, on his left. There was never any question in his mind of where they were gonna do this, because James's sofa is the most comfortable thing in the world. Ed is still annoyed that he ordered it without even measuring the space where he wanted it to go, and yet it fit perfectly, but whenever he sits on it he's secretly glad, because it's the cosiest sofa in existence and it would've been a tragedy if he had to return it.

"You can relax, you know," he says, noting how straight James's spine is, how tightly his arms are folded across his chest. Only James could manage to look uncomfortable on a sofa like this one. "I promise it's all stuff that you love. You can trust me."

"Yeah," says James, relaxing just a touch, letting a tiny bit of the tension out of his muscles.

It's not enough, but Ed knows what to do about that. "I'm gonna kiss you now," he says, smiling at the way James's cheeks flush and his mouth drops open almost instantly.

He reaches out to touch James's chin, trails two fingers along his jawline and turns his head to the side before leaning in and kissing him softly. James tries to intensify it right away, over-eager, but Ed controls the pace, slowing him down until he's putty in his hands. It's still hard to get James to stop, though—he has to resort to his previous method of gently tugging at his hair, and James properly moans this time, quiet but unmistakable.

"You like that," says Ed, keeping his hand there, James's hair all soft and fluffy under his fingers.

"What," says James, pretending like he doesn't know what Ed is talking about.

Ed pulls a tiny bit more, and James clenches his fists and swallows hard. Ed can't help but laugh at him, kindly though, massaging his scalp a little with the tips of his fingers. Under normal circumstances he might tease him some more, make him admit it, but right now he's keen to get started.

"Okay, so," he says, "what I want to do is feed you some things—"

"I gathered that," interrupts James snarkily.

" _And_ ," Ed says sharply, his voice rising over James's and then getting softer as he leans in, "I wanna—I wanna get you off while I do it."

There's a pause. James's lips twist into an instinctive, embarrassed little smile. Ed sort of nuzzles against him, trying to be soft and reassuring, pressing their bodies closer together.

"I'm not gonna act like that's not weird, because it is weird," James says eventually. "Okay? That's a weird thing to want to do. You're a weird man."

Ed smiles at that. "I mean, sure, it's niche. I'm willing to admit that it's niche," he says, trailing a hand up James's body, over his stomach, and up to his chest. He lets it rest there a moment, feeling the rise and fall of James's chest as he breathes, absentmindedly playing with his shirt buttons. "But are you gonna let me do it, is the main question."

James squirms slightly under Ed's touch. "I mean..." An incredibly long pause and then a tiny, quiet, "Okay..." and then, immediately, some babbling: "But like—I'm not even hard, so. Food doesn't get me hard, 'cause, you know. I'm not weird. Like you."

"Yeah yeah," says Ed, rolling his eyes even though James can't actually see him. "But I bet it's not gonna be a challenge to get you there. Because you, James Acaster," Ed boops him on the nose, "are easy."

"I—what?! I am _not_ —" James protests hotly, but then Ed drags his head back with the hand still tangled in his hair and leans in to kiss his neck, and James moans again, helplessly.

Ed smiles into the warm skin. "Told you," he says, punctuating his words with another kiss, harder this time—maybe he sucks a little at the tender skin because how can he resist? It's all thin and pale and tempting. James doesn't make a sound this time but Ed can tell just how hard he's trying not to, and he's gone all tense again, whole body taut like a bowstring as Ed works at the tender flesh with his mouth, aiming to leave a mark, feeling the throb of blood under his tongue.

When he pulls off, satisfied, James says "Did you just give me a love bite? Are we fifteen years old?" and Ed can tell he's aiming for haughty and dismissive with his tone, but his voice has gone all wavery.

"Mm," says Ed, admiring his handiwork, a reddish-purple smudge blooming there already. "You bruise like a peach."

James only makes a breathy sort of noise in response to that, and Ed lets his hand drift a bit lower. He wants so badly to reach down between James's legs, feel out how this is affecting him so far. He would love it if all you had to do to give James a boner was kiss his neck and pull his hair a bit. But he makes himself wait, starts unbuttoning James's shirt instead.

"Let's get this top off, okay? Just in case you make a mess while you're eating."

"I'm not a _child_ ," James scoffs indignantly.

"Of course not," Ed soothes, "c'mon now. Off it comes."

James sits up obediently so Ed can remove the shirt, slipping it down off his broad shoulders and tossing it aside, and he notices how James shivers slightly even though the flat is perfectly warm.

Ed doesn't get to see James in any sort of state of undress very often. They've lived together, so it has happened, but in general James is not a fan of showing skin, avoids it wherever possible. He's insecure about how skinny he is, and about silly things that Ed can't imagine anybody else would actually give a shit about, like his knees. Ed remembers a story James used to tell about a brief period of intense hypochondria, during which he repeatedly returned to the doctor, convinced there was something wrong with pretty much each and every body part until he had checked off everything on the list. Ed remembers thinking privately that this sounded a lot more like intense insecurity than an actual fear of being ill, that it seemed like James just wanted the reassurance of a medical professional that his body was Normal.

And he doesn't know what James is so worried about, because he's gorgeous. Sure, he's a scrawny thing, but Ed _likes_ it. He should be jealous, maybe, of how flat James's stomach is despite how much he eats. He should maybe feel something like resentment at the sight of James's thin frame, but instead he just wants to touch. Tracing his fingers along, he counts one-two-three ribs—he licks along the dip of his collarbone—tucks his thumb beside a hipbone—

"Ed," says James, in little more than a whisper.

"Mm?" asks Ed absentmindedly, circling James's bellybutton with a fingertip, trailing it lower to feel the dusting of dark blonde hair that disappears down beneath the waistband of his cords. James doesn't say anything else, and Ed grows curious. "Mm-hm?" he prompts again.

James twists about a bit under Ed's teasing fingers, makes a frustrated noise. He's got one arm wrapped around Ed and is clutching sort of spasmodically at Ed's waist, grasping the fabric of his t-shirt.

"What is it?" asks Ed, spreading out his hand across James's chest now, fingers splayed, feeling his fast heartbeat.

"Kiss me," James mumbles.

"You're sweet," says Ed, leaning in, pressing a chaste kiss to James's lips.

"Shut up," James mutters, ducking forwards to catch Ed's mouth against his own, sucking Ed's lower lip into his mouth rather more aggressively than necessary and holding Ed in place so that he can't tease again, can't pull away. Ed wonders distantly if he should've tied James's hands, but the thought slips away as James deepens the kiss, tongue slick and soft in Ed's mouth. Ed is beginning to think maybe James has a bit of an oral fixation; it would make sense, with how he is about food, how he bites his own lips, how much he seems to love kissing. Ed can't help wondering if perhaps it extends to other things as well—and he has to steer himself abruptly away from _that_ train of thought, feeling his cock starting to fatten up in his jeans already. He tries to regain control, pulling back just a touch, but James only holds onto him more tightly, insistent, clearly intending to keep kissing Ed until he's had his fill.

Ed slides his hand down from James's chest, over his quivering stomach, over his belt buckle, finally letting it rest over the fly of his cords. He's pleased with what he finds there, and when he squeezes it James breaks the kiss with a sudden gasp, and Ed has to say "Knew it wouldn't take long," and give his jawline a cheeky little bite.

"Well at least I'm not—I'm not the weirdo who gets turned on by—" James is stuttering, distracted by the way Ed's touching him through his trousers.

Ed hushes him and takes his hand away, ignoring the disappointed little noise James makes. He sits up straight and pulls the coffee table closer so that the items on the tray are within easy reach. Now that he's got James revved up, he feels confident that this'll work. He decides to start with the whiskey, get James to relax a bit more. He unscrews the cap and leans back in.

"Okay, so this is a drink," he says, and he doesn't want to spoil the surprise but, "booze," he adds, so that James doesn't take too big of a gulp.

He gently slides his other hand round the back of James's head, cradling it so that he can tilt it upwards at the right angle, and James makes a little noise in the back of his throat as Ed's fingers comb through his hair. Ed guides the opening of the bottle towards James's parted lips and tilts it just slightly, James clumsily touching his mouth to the glass, figuring out what's happening. A little bit of the whiskey pours into his mouth, but Ed's hand is shaky and the bottle is full and James is surprised, maybe, and some of it slips out, trickling down his chin. He makes another involuntary noise and Ed just has to duck in and chase the rivulet of whiskey with his tongue, following it up James's outstretched throat to the line of his jaw, to his mouth.

" _Mmph,_ " says James against Ed's lips and the whiskey taste on his tongue is sharp and strong. "That's really good," he says when Ed pulls away. "It tastes expensive."

"It _is_ expensive," Ed tells him. "You know I like to spoil you." James bites his lip rather hard and says nothing. "C'mon—a little more?"

This time James is more prepared and the whiskey doesn't spill. Ed watches him swallow, twice, transfixed by the movement of his throat, the bob of his Adam's apple.

"More?" James asks hopefully.

"Nope," says Ed. "I decide what you have next."

He expects James to get a bit snippy with him then, but to his surprise, James just lets out a breath, slow and shaky. "Okay," he says meekly. _Huh._

Ed goes for the chocolate next, fiddling with the paper and the foil and wishing he'd done this in advance so he'd be quicker, so James wouldn't get a chance to guess what was coming. He breaks off a small piece, leaning back in, and returns his hand to James's crotch as he brings the chocolate up to his lips. James opens his mouth for it, touches his tongue to it before bringing it in with his teeth. Ed strokes him through his trousers and James makes a noise, and Ed honestly can't tell what it's in response to, the chocolate or the pressure against his cock. He lets his head roll back against the sofa cushions as he chews the chocolate, lets it melt against his tongue, and Ed decides that now is the time to escalate things a little.

He feeds James a second piece of chocolate, a bigger one, and lets him occupy himself with that as he unbuckles his belt. James twitches under his hands when he realises what he's doing, but accepts it, lets Ed unbutton his trousers. Ed feels a stab of arousal as he spreads James's fly open and sees his erection now only covered by the thin cotton of his boxers, and he wants to tease a little bit more, but he can't help touching it, running his palm over it before he even realises what he's doing. James's hips jerk up and he makes a noise, muffled around the chocolate in his mouth.

Ed tries to compose himself and focus on getting James undressed, even though his own cock is so hard now it's uncomfortable, aching. He manages to get James out of his trousers without too much trouble, James lifting his arse off the sofa so that Ed can yank them down, exposing his legs bit by bit—skinny milk-white thighs, bony knees, taut calves. When he goes to do the same with the boxers though, James reaches out and grabs his wrist.

"Are you really gonna make me be naked while you're fully clothed?" he asks, and Ed realises how pink he's gone, a blush that spreads right down to his chest. It's rather endearing.

"Uh," says Ed, realising he hadn't thought about it. "I mean, you can't see me, so I didn't think it would—matter, particularly?"

"Yeah, but," says James in a small voice. "Still feeling a bit vulnerable here."

Ed can't help smiling. "All right," he says, "all right, yeah. Fair's fair."

Actually, he desperately needs to get his jeans off so he can relieve the pressure on his dick, so he's not gonna argue. He kind of can't believe how hard he is already when they've barely even started, and he's vaguely annoyed about it because it's distracting and he wants to be able to focus better. He undresses quickly, hurrying so that he can finally get James naked—he whips his t-shirt over his head, toes off his shoes and peels off his socks before standing up and pulling down his own trousers and underwear in one sweep. It feels—weird, standing completely naked in James's living room, and he's surprised that he still feels a bit self-conscious even with James blindfolded. It feels even weirder when he sits his bare arse down on James's sofa, but then he shifts closer to James and their thighs touch, an electric thrill of skin-to-skin, and it's just _good_.

Suddenly James is reaching out blindly and his hand brushes Ed's cock and then clumsily closes around it, and Ed spits out a startled, "Fuck," his hips jerking into the touch.

"Just checking," says James impishly, hand slipping away again, and Ed laughs in disbelief.

"Cheeky fucker," he says, reaching immediately for the waistband of James's boxers, and James permits it now, hitching his hips up to allow Ed to peel the fabric down and off. And then Ed is staring at his cock, for—well, much longer than he would if James could _see_ him staring at it. He didn't consciously realise how badly he's always wanted to see it until now he finally is, and he's sort of—stunned, which is idiotic, really, because it's just a dick, but. It's _James's_ dick. It's a good length, and _thick_ , the size highlighted by his narrow waist, and it's dark and full where it rests against his pale tummy, framed by his jutting hipbones.

"I can feel you staring and I don't like it," says James then, his hands moving awkwardly down between his legs to touch himself self-consciously.

"No," says Ed meaninglessly, and god, this is going to be so much harder than he thought, he's already losing track of his whole plan. "No, it's— _fuck_ , just let me—"

He pries James's hands away and replaces them with his own, wrapping his right hand carefully around his cock and marvelling at the feel of it filling his fist. James has tensed up again, back arching up off the sofa cushions, and Ed tries stroking him to relax him but it seems to only make things worse. Without letting go he sits forward, reaching for one of the little cake squares with his left hand. The chocolate one is the nearest, and maybe he should be going for more variety, but right now it's hard to think about things like that. He had a plan, he's sure, he was gonna do things in a certain order, but it's all gone out of his head.

"Open up?" he murmurs questioningly, and James does, and Ed will never be over that, honestly, the sight of James parting his lips expectantly, obediently, waiting for whatever Ed is going to put between them. _God._ Before he can stop himself, he imagines pushing his cock between them, making James open up for _that_ , and he almost drops the cake, his fingers slip-sliding against the chocolate glaze.

He takes a deep breath and manages to regain his composure, focusing on feeding the little square to James. It has a thin layer of mousse in the middle and he watches as James figures out the texture of it before sinking his teeth in, breaking it and drawing half of it into his mouth with the curl of his tongue. And then he tastes it, and makes a muffled sort of _mmph_ sound, and Ed takes his hand away from James's cock in order to spit into his palm before curling it back around and stroking, grip firm and sure. James makes a different sound, higher in pitch and very pleasing, and Ed gives him the rest of the cake, gently proffering his fingers after for James to lick off a smear of mousse and glaze left behind. The feel of his tongue sliding over Ed's fingertips sends a flash of heat straight to Ed's groin and he shifts uneasily, desperate to touch himself.

"Is it good?" he asks, and he doesn't specify what he means, which _bit_ , but James seems to get it anyway—

"Yeah, it's—it's _weird_ but it's—please keep going—"

Ed keeps going. It's trickier than he expected—in his fantasies it was easy to imagine himself being perfectly composed and dexterous, managing to give James a mind-blowing handjob while simultaneously juggling all the different food options. He didn't expect this to test his ability to multitask quite this much and in reality it's a challenge, not just logistically but because his brain is going all foggy from how hot the whole thing is and it's genuinely hard to think. He gives James a little more whiskey, and takes a couple of swigs from the bottle himself, thinking the taste of it might ground him somehow, but all it does is make his mind fuzzier.

He manages to feed James another little cake without too much trouble, a ginger one this time, quite spicy but softened with honey in a way that he knows James will like, tingling warmth across his tongue. He keeps stroking him all the while and it's not his best work but the important thing is that James is into it, his hips twisting this way and that like he can't keep still, thrusting up into Ed's fist impatiently now and again.

"You like this," he murmurs, low and dirty in James's ear, nipping at the soft lobe with his teeth.

James doesn't admit it with words, but he moans with his mouth full, and it's beautiful. The sound of surrender.

"Gimme a second, okay?" Ed murmurs. He hates to stop but, annoyingly, he needs both hands for the caramel sauce and didn't really think that through, and it feels dirty to hold the jar with the hand that was just wrapped around James's dick but—whatever, he knows James is gonna love this and he's hungry for the reaction.

He's so focused on getting a spoonful ready and returning the jar to the table that it's a shock when he turns back and sees that James has taken over in his absence. Seeing him stroking himself throws Ed off completely—the fact that he was so turned on he couldn't wait is one thing, but also Ed finds himself transfixed by the mere sight of him working his cock. Ed's always thought that James has quite attractive hands, likes the big, squarish shape of them, and his long fingers look so good curled around the hard flesh.

"Um," Ed hears himself saying, torn between the desire to keep watching and the desire to get his hands back on him.

"S-sorry," James mumbles, letting go, and that's—well—the fact that James seems to think he needs to _apologise_ is very interesting. Of course, Ed's making the decisions here, controlling him to a degree, maybe, but still. It's not like he ever said that James couldn't touch himself, and the sheepish tone when he thought he'd been caught breaking a rule—that's something Ed's going to have to devote a lot of thought to, some other time.

He replaces James's hand with his own once again, stroking him teasingly slow, light and lazy as he brings the spoon up to his mouth. There's not much on it because it was difficult to stop it from dripping, and as much as he'd rather like it to—as much as there's a part of him that wants to dispense with all these attempts at neatness and decorum and just make a fucking mess, lick it up—he doesn't think James would appreciate it. James accepts the spoon and makes a delightful happy noise when he tastes the salted caramel, keeping the spoon in his mouth and sucking, making sure he cleans it all off. Ed curls his hand tighter as he watches James's mouth, teases the pad of his thumb over the head of James's cock until he feels it getting all wet, making Ed's fingers smear.

Ed's own arousal is getting more and more insistent; he's trying to tamp down the urge to touch himself, trying to focus on James's pleasure, but _god._ He's getting so turned on, watching James, touching him, seeing him like this. It's like something out of one of his best fantasies. He has to turn on his side, curl alongside James's body and push his hard cock against James's hip. James makes a startled, pleased little noise at the feel of it, and Ed thrusts, just once, rubs against the hot skin.

"You're so good, James, fuck," Ed mutters meaninglessly, "you're so hot, doing this for me—god, thank you, thank you, _thank you_."

He lets the spoon slip out of James's mouth and James is breathing sort of crazy now, his chest heaving, and he's flushed and sweating. Ed doesn't want to pull away but he forces himself, tossing the spoon back on the table, feeling James's body jerk against him in surprise at the unexpected sound. He fumbles for the tub of ice cream and realises that if he's gonna bother with a spoon for this too he's going to have to take his hand off of James's dick again, and there's no way _that's_ happening. So fuck it—it's hotter this way anyway—he sticks two fingers right into the tub, curls them to scoop some of the ice cream out, and by now it's the perfect consistency, soft enough that his fingers sink right in, the chill of it a shock against his overheated skin.

He keeps stroking James's cock, his grip firm, but when he brings his fingers up to James's mouth and James immediately accepts them, his rhythm falters. James makes a very pleased sound, and it's even more obscene with his mouth full, and his tongue is rolling over Ed's fingers, sliding between them, licking up the ice cream. And then he's _sucking_ , drawing Ed's fingers deeper into his mouth and it's slick and wet and hot, and Ed's fingertips are on the back of James's tongue, James's teeth grazing his knuckles.

"Oh my god, James, fuck," Ed hisses. His cock _aches_ and he bumps clumsily up against James's side again, desperate for friction, ducking his head into the crook of James's neck, breathing him in, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to pull himself together. He tries to concentrate on the movement of his other hand, but it's near impossible with James suckling his fingers like that.

"More," says James with his mouth full, and Ed doesn't need to be asked twice.

He pulls his fingers out and immediately shoves them back in the ice cream, then feeds them back into James's mouth, watching intently. He stretches his lips a little this time just to see if James will let him, and he does—Ed feels his fingertips skate over James's molars, feels James's tongue laving over the tender web of skin where Ed's fingers join. Ed lets him keep at it, as if he's trying to clean off every last trace of the ice cream, though Ed suspects that's not _all_ it's about. James swallows around them, his teeth just briefly clamping down, and the resulting pressure and suction makes Ed feel lightheaded. Then he lets Ed withdraw them again, and just when Ed is about to lean forward and get him some more—

"I think—think I'm gonna c-come," James stammers out, and then, "can I?"

_Can I._

Ed is speechless. Logically he knows that maybe that's not such a weird thing for him to ask, when you take everything into account—he's at Ed's mercy here, and they've done the food part enough times now that James has got used to asking if he can have another bite, asking what he should taste next, letting Ed call the shots. So probably it's just habit, probably it just slipped out. But the impact it has on Ed is staggering—it feels like a weight suddenly presses down on him, somewhere low in his stomach, heavy and solid. Ed has—has trained him to ask for permission, without even _meaning_ to.

James sort of whines and Ed realises he's waiting for an answer, which, _god_. "Yeah, yes, of course," he says hurriedly, tightening his grip just a touch, speeding up, wanting to get James there, wanting to push him over the edge.

James reaches out and grabs onto him, an arm flung across Ed's body and a hand clutching at his hip, holding him close, fingernails pressing bluntly into his skin. "Yeah," he mutters vaguely, his voice all mumbly and small, "so close, Ed—please—"

And god, Ed is determined, despite a distant ache in his wrist now that he valiantly ignores, working James ever closer, thumb teasing the tip of his cock again to make him writhe against the cushions. He buries his face in James's shoulder, pressing a clumsy kiss to his throat.

"Ed," says James again, brokenly, and Ed suddenly realises what he wants—stifles his plea instantly with two fingers, thrust deep into the wet warmth of his mouth, James whimpering weakly around them then suckling gladly, and _god_ , Ed feels like if he let himself he could come too, simply from that and the pressure of James's thigh against his cock as he crowds in beside him. But he has to concentrate, has to bring James off first, and he can feel that he's almost there.

He kisses James's neck again, tonguing at the bruise he left earlier as he continues to pump James's cock steadily. He feels his teeth skim tendon and suddenly James is coming, his whole body going taut, his back arching beautifully, hips lifting into the air. His teeth sink into Ed's fingers and he makes a lovely, plaintive sort of whining sound around them as he spills his release over Ed's fist and splashes his own stomach and chest. He must not have come for a while because—there's a _lot_ of it, shooting up in streaks, pearly-white pooling in the dip between his collarbones.

"Fuck," says Ed admiringly, can't help running a finger through it, and James shudders like crazy, uncontrollable aftershocks coursing through him. Amazingly, he's still sucking lazily at Ed's fingers, almost absentmindedly, like he hasn't realised he's still doing it.

Ed has to gently tug his fingers free, and James's mouth goes slack in their absence. He takes a moment just to look at James, to appreciate the mess he's made of him and the fact that any of this happened at all. He feels a sudden, powerful rush of love for him, a gut-punch of it, and he wants to kiss him again but he looks so overwhelmed and he doesn't want to push him too far. He settles for gently stroking the side of James's face instead and James turns towards the touch, breathing hard, letting Ed caress him softly.

He's slightly nervous about how James might be feeling, and without being able to see his eyes he hasn't got much to go on. (Next time—god, he hopes there's a next time—he wants to see James's face properly; bets it's beautiful when he comes.) He suspects he might feel a bit fragile after everything that's happened, so Ed will need to treat him gently. He'll be embarrassed, Ed is sure, of how much he enjoyed it, and Ed will have to try and be tactful, but right now he's still in a fog of arousal that's making it hard to think sensibly. He's still desperate to come and he doesn't know if James will want to reciprocate—the thought of that is still hard to imagine, hard to believe. He _wants_ it, of course, the mere thought makes him ache, but James has already given him so much, and Ed would understand if he couldn't handle anything more tonight. Ed would be perfectly fine getting himself off; it wouldn't take long, especially if he gets to keep looking at James and the state he's in.

But he needs to make sure James is okay first, has to try to ignore the throbbing of his own cock until he's figured out what James can handle right now. He gives him another few seconds to come down, and then reaches for the blindfold.

"I'm gonna take this off now, okay?" he murmurs, and James nods, so he starts to ease it off him slowly. "Keep your eyes closed for a sec while you adjust to the light, yeah?" he adds, and James does as he's told, opening them slowly like he's waking up, like he's coming out of a dream, his eyelashes fluttering.

 

* * *

 

"There you go," says Ed, softly, pulling off the blindfold, and James's eyes flicker open slowly, his surroundings taking shape around him.

Everything seems very bright, and even though James tried to prepare himself for it he's still slightly alarmed by the immediate sight of his and Ed's naked bodies all curled up together. He realises how much easier it was with the blindfold on, how not actually being able to see what was happening made it easier to accept. He looks down at himself and instantly goes all hot and tingly with embarrassment at how hard he came, the sight of the evidence splashed all over his torso.

He can feel that Ed messed up his hair when he pulled the blindfold off so he drags a hand through it, feeling a bit fidgety. Then Ed sits up, reaching forwards, and James watches—distracted for a moment by the sight of Ed's naked back, broad and pale, a few freckles dotted across it. Belatedly his gaze follows Ed's movement and he notices the tray laid out on the coffee table, filled with all the things Ed's been feeding him, and he takes a moment to look at them all, recognising the different tastes.

But Ed isn't reaching for any of the food, instead he's grabbing a damp flannel from a bowl, and James can't help being sort of impressed by his forethought. He knows what's coming and has to shut his eyes again, too embarrassed to watch as Ed wipes him down. He braces himself for the touch, but the cool cloth still makes him tremble a little as Ed smoothes it over his stomach and chest, carefully avoiding his softening cock, sweeping right up to his neck where he feels sort of sticky. There's a suspiciously tender spot on his throat that, when touched, makes his body jolt.

Once he's cleaned him off, Ed tosses the flannel back into the bowl and flops back onto the sofa beside him. James opens his eyes halfway, experimentally. He feels all dazed and like none of this is quite real, and Ed is _so naked_ , there's so much bare skin to be confronted with all at once and he doesn't know where to look. Absurdly he feels like he shouldn't stare, like he's not allowed. Maybe he's grown so used to forbidding himself from ogling Ed that he can't quite let himself even now.

Ed is looking down at his left hand, appearing to inspect his fingers absentmindedly. "You're very good at that, you know."

"What, orgasms?" asks James. "Didn't know it was a skill."

Ed laughs. "I meant sucking things," he says in a low voice, and curls closer, letting his dick nudge into James's thigh once again. It's not subtle, sure—but James kind of likes it. "You're good at sucking things."

"That is _not_ smooth."

"Is it working though?" asks Ed, with a sly sort of smile.

Normally, after someone makes him come, James tends to feel—well, not good. He usually feels uncomfortable, having let someone see him so vulnerable, and right now it should arguably be _worse_ , because he let Ed do other things to him as well, _kinky_ things. And he liked it, and he shouldn't have liked it because it was _weird_ , but as much as he kept trying to tell himself that, his body wouldn't listen, overwhelmed by different kinds of pleasure, senses bombarded by it until he couldn't do anything but give in.

He normally feels guilty, because his Christian upbringing instilled that in him somehow—he can't actually remember anybody outright telling him that sex is shameful, can't remember being _taught_ to have this guilt, but it's followed him around for as long as he can remember. It happens as a result of a lot of things, but sex is one of the main ones. Even masturbation sometimes, especially if he watches porn, especially if it's anything anyone might consider atypical. Sex is worse, though, because he has to deal with the insecurity on top of it all, the fear of being judged for his body or for the stupid sounds and faces he might make, for what gets him going, how long he might last.

He gets guilty about food a lot, too, particularly if he feels like he's letting himself indulge too much; he tells himself he doesn't deserve it, that he shouldn't enjoy it as much as he does. James knows all of these things about himself, and so he's expecting to feel all the usual conflicting emotions, and is very confused when he doesn't. This whole situation should bring on a fucking tidal wave of guilt, all things considered, but he's waiting for it, and it's just not happening. It's weird, because it's not that the feelings aren't there inside him somewhere—he can sense them, lurking around in the background, but they feel very far away or, or trapped behind a thick pane of glass.

He does feel a bit prickly and exposed, but he still feels good, too, sort of floaty and happy. He doesn't know if maybe it's the sugar rush overriding his usual post-orgasm sulk, because he's never experienced the two in tandem before. And he's maybe a little tipsy, too, from the admittedly small amount of whiskey Ed gave him. It feels like it's gone straight to his head. Maybe it's also the fact that Ed is so hard, and _James_ did that—he made him that hard, and that knowledge brings a flush of pride, and a lingering desire. The way Ed spoke to him, thanked him, sounded so damn overwhelmed, and his cock is a heavy weight against James's thigh, and he wants James to—to suck it—

And James might maybe sort of want that too.

"Yeah," he admits, voice small, looking at Ed with his eyes half-lidded because it's still all a bit much. "Yeah, it's kind of working."

Ed's smile widens and it's pretty. God, he's so pretty, with his stupid—face. His stupid symmetrical face and his annoyingly beautiful bone structure. "Yeah? You wanna?" Ed rolls his hips just once, sliding his cock along the side of James's thigh. "You wanna suck my dick?" He's still grinning, like he knows full well that it's lazy, dumb dirty talk, and James is feeling it anyway.

"I wanna make you stop talking like that," says James, which is a lie, but he says it anyway, doesn't want to reveal just how easy he is, that Ed talking like that is just making him want it more.

"I think I'm gonna be the one making you stop talking," Ed points out. "Can't talk if your mouth is full."

"You're ruining it," says James, but already he's pushing at the edge of the coffee table with his feet, moving it back to make space.

He still feels sort of like none of this is real, it's all fuzzy and lovely and strange. Through the haze of it all, though, he feels a distinct urge to please Ed. Maybe it's gratitude, a gut reaction to all the pleasure he gave him tonight. Maybe it's just because he _likes_ him so goddamn much, that he wants to make him fall apart under his tongue. Maybe it's because he can feel Ed's erection prodding into his leg, and he hasn't been able to get a good look at it yet and he _wants_ to, wants to see it and touch it and get it in his mouth.

He sits up straighter, moving to get off the sofa, but is surprised at how stiff he feels once he moves—he must've been in the same position for too long, and tense too, probably.

He stops, awkwardly poised on the edge of the sofa. "I don't—I mean—I'm not, like—" he stammers awkwardly. He wants to say _I might be shit at this, sorry_ , but not in those exact words.

"It's all right," says Ed, right away, and he reaches out to cup James's face with one hand. It feels surprisingly cool which means James is definitely blushing, which—ugh—isn't ideal, looking all red and sweaty and unattractive when you're about to go down on someone. Ed's hand slides up into his hair, ruffling it, and James kind of leans into the touch, feeling a bit like a cat being stroked. "Just, whatever you do is gonna be amazing, so—"

"Unless I bite your cock off," James says, and then wants to hit himself, because _why would he say that_ , but Ed is laughing, quite genuinely, and it makes James feel warm inside. "But, I'm not—I'm not gonna bite your cock off."

Ed is grinning fondly at him. "Glad to hear it," he says. "That would be, you know, quite shockingly violent, all things considered. Bit uncalled for. I've been very nice to you."

"Yeah," agrees James listlessly. Ed is still stroking his hair and it's making his brain go stupid. He wants to say something clever but he can't make words, and he realises belatedly that he's just staring between Ed's legs, at his cock which doesn't seem to have flagged at all despite how stupidly long James is taking about this whole thing. It's—nice. James isn't exactly in the business of judging people's dicks, so what does he know, really, but. He thinks Ed has a nice one.

He snaps himself out of it. "All right. I—knees," he says eloquently, clambering off the sofa.

"You knees," mocks Ed, but it's habit more than anything, there's no real intent behind it.

James slips into the space he's made between sofa and coffee table, and Ed settles back, spreading his legs so that James can awkwardly fit his gangly body between them. James kneels there, sitting back on his ankles.

"You're good at kneeling, aren't you," says Ed then.

"What," says James, taken aback, looking up at him.

"I mean, you just—you've had a lot of practice. You know, because of the shows! Not—" says Ed, looking slightly flustered, like he's revealed something he hadn't meant to.

"Oh," says James, realisation dawning. "Is that—did you—did you think about that in a dirty way?!"

"...No," says Ed, in a way that very obviously means _yes_.

"Oh my god," says James, not sure whether to feel pleased or objectified. On the one hand it feels very weird and inappropriate that Ed would have been thinking of him in that way even back then, but he can't deny that it's also sort of exciting. The thought that Ed was watching him get on his knees onstage and thinking about—about _this_ —is a lot to take.

"I saw that show quite a few times," Ed says, attempting to defend himself, "eventually, you know, the mind wanders. You're very talented but I'm also very attracted to you so sometimes it's hard for me to focus. You ought to be more considerate, really."

James chooses to ignore this babbling, though the compliment makes him glow. "It did make me quite good at it," he says instead, rather wickedly. "Lucky for you. I could kneel for hours."

He settles, feeling the plush carpet against his bony knees, remembering all of those hard stage floors he knelt on with only his cords for cushioning. It did make him sore, his knees all red by the end of the night, stiff and aching. But it got easier. If he had a long run of shows, by the end of it he no longer noticed the discomfort, his reddened skin the only reminder.

Ed is laughing, hoarse now, sort of throaty. He leans forward and runs the pad of his thumb over James's lips, which makes James shudder. "This definitely isn't gonna last hours," he says. "Unless you keep talking at me, that is."

" _You_ keep talking at _me!_ " says James indignantly. "I'm trying to use my mouth for something more useful."

"Yeah?" smirks Ed, lounging back again. "I mean, nobody's stopping you."

James wants to wipe that smug look off his face. He seems frustratingly calm, which isn't exactly unusual—Ed is very good at acting chill about things even when he's losing his shit on the inside, James knows this—but considering the circumstances it's a bit much. James feels like he has been embarrassingly needy in comparison. In fact, Ed almost seems satisfied already, which is bewildering when his dick is still that hard and being paid so little attention. But maybe he's pleased enough by what has already happened tonight, as if that was the main event, and this is just a bonus.

James swallows. He places his hands gingerly on Ed's calves, over his tattoos, feeling the strong muscles in his legs as he trails his hands upwards to Ed's thighs. He doesn't know how to tease like Ed does. Ed is sexy without even trying, but James feels like he doesn't even know how to try. He just wants to make it _good_ —wants to make Ed feel good, wants to make him come. He supposes he must have wanted these things for a long time, even though he never let himself acknowledge them, because despite their intensity, none of the desires feel surprising or new.

James takes Ed's cock in a loose fist, the skin hot and soft and a little damp against his own sweaty palm. He darts an uncertain glance up at Ed's face, and Ed gives him a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of encouragement.

"Right," says James, and ducks forward, and licks a single stripe up the length of Ed's cock with the flat of his tongue. After so much sugar, the slightly bitter, musky taste is a thrilling contrast and he's vaguely concerned to discover that he immediately loves it. It shouldn't be a surprise, really, he already knows that he enjoys using his mouth. He's always loved kissing, is happy to just make out for ages without the expectation of anything more, and he really likes going down on girls, though he's not sure he's actually any _good_ or if they're just glad he's willing to do it, and maybe they let him keep going for as long as he does just because they appreciate his enthusiasm.

He slides his tongue over the gleaming head, gathers the wet there, and Ed inhales sharply when he does that, and James can—can feel the slickness on his tongue and the taste is stronger and it's weird but it's _good_ , and he might make a small, confused noise, because is he supposed to like this as much as he does? It just feels so intimate, tasting someone's skin and sweat and arousal, feeling like it's becoming a part of him in turn. It's sort of like—like how cats want to absorb their owner's scent into their own, or something. He's sure there's some ancient anthropological reasoning behind it that makes it perfectly understandable and natural and Not Weird.

"You like that," Ed says, his voice barely a murmur. "You like how I taste, yeah?"

James is too shy to look at him right now, but he nods, and Ed takes a shaky breath in response like he's a little overwhelmed too, and that's good, that makes James feel better, settles his jumpy nerves somewhat. His heartbeat is still galloping away in his own ears but he tries to ignore it. There's an urge he's been trying to quell and finally he gives into it and just nuzzles Ed's groin, attempting to be at least somewhat subtle as he inhales the scent of him, his nose pressing into neatly-trimmed pubic hair. Before Ed has a chance to comment, James quickly lifts his head and presses his lips to the crown of Ed's cock instead, open-mouthed and messy, like he's kissing it. Ed lets out a moan and James is gratified.

Then James takes it into his mouth and is vaguely bewildered to find that he almost immediately feels about ten times calmer, even though he still doesn't know what the hell he's doing and it should be scary. Instead he just feels soothed by the weight of it on his tongue, and it's weird but also sort of intoxicating. The sensation spreads through his veins like syrup, making him feel all loose and lush and dopey.

He supposes he has always found it comforting to have things in his mouth, but he still doesn't think it should feel this _right_ , Ed's dick filling his mouth, stretching his lips, as far back on his tongue as he can get it. It should feel—obstructive, maybe, should make him feel sort of choked or panicky or something, but instead it's incredible, and seems to be intensifying the vague floaty drunk feeling he noted earlier. Maybe it's just a lingering hang-up he wasn't consciously aware he had, like he thinks sucking cock should feel wrong and bad, because it's dirty, but—but it turns out it's _nice_. No one ever told him!

He takes a moment to shoot a quick glance up at Ed, who looks transfixed, his mouth open and his eyes dark. "Oh my god, James, you look so good," he says, which James very much doubts but is pleased to hear regardless.

James tries to fit him in deeper, just to see how far down he can force himself—and to his disappointment he gags and has to come back up, sputtering slightly, but Ed curses under his breath like he's impressed anyway, and that's good too.

Distractedly, he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand because it feels wet, and Ed makes a little noise that James barely registers in favour of licking at Ed's balls, feeling his face flush as he does it. He feels their tight fullness under his tongue and Ed properly whines, then, and reaches out to rake a hand through James's hair. The feeling sends a series of sparks down James's entire spine and he rolls his head back into Ed's hand instantly, his eyes fluttering shut. He almost forgets what he's _doing_ , which is impressive considering how very much he wants to keep doing it, but Ed's fingers gently massaging his scalp feel good enough to divert his attention.

"I like your hair this length," says Ed, his tone almost conversational apart from how breathless he sounds. "Good for, uh—really getting your fingers into."

He makes his point by curling his fingers around a handful of strands, and giving them a sharp little tug which wrenches James upright, pulling him up off his ankles, his spine jolting stock-straight. James looks up at him, noting the way his biceps are bulging, the way he's pushed his hair back up off his sweaty forehead, the way he's staring at James like he's the best thing he's ever seen in his life.

"God," says Ed wonderingly, and then uses his grip on James's hair to slowly steer him back down to his cock, and James opens his mouth for it right away, feeling a curl of heat in his belly as if he could almost get hard again, just from the hungry look in Ed's eyes and the way he's moving him the way he wants him.

Ed uses his other hand to take a hold of his cock, a grip around the base to hold himself steady as he guides it back between James's parted lips, angling it so that James feels the head nudge into the tender inside of his cheek. Ed's fingers slip from James's hair (much to James's dismay) and instead drift to his face, stroking just below his cheekbone, feeling out the swelling there. James lets it pop out of his mouth again with a dirty, thrilling little noise, and then swallows it back down, wanting it back inside. The feeling is frighteningly addictive and he hopes he's going to get to do this again.

He lets his eyes drift closed and just loses himself in it, easing off Ed's cock just to go back down again. He works his mouth over the shaft in as much of a rhythm as he can manage, revelling in the feel of the hot, swollen flesh pressing on his tongue. He can't bring himself to care too much about how much saliva his mouth seems to be producing as a result, lets himself drool a little bit even though it's embarrassing—Ed certainly doesn't seem to mind, fingers combing urgently through James's hair once again, his grip like a vice as he gets closer to orgasm.

"James," Ed pants out, and his tone is frantic, "fuck—I wanna—"

James pulls off, glancing up at him questioningly, and he looks— _gone_ , his eyes all pupil, two bright spots high on his cheeks.

"I wanna— _god_ , I wanna come on your face."

James swears his heart skips a beat at the words. He knows what he heard but the shock of it is so great that it takes him a few seconds to fully register it, to _believe_ it. And then his stomach sort of flips over at the idea of it, at the thought of letting Ed do that to him. It sends a rush of something like panic through his whole body, because it's—that's _so_ —he definitely shouldn't, he _can't_ —and yet—there's an awful, depraved part of him that _wants_ it.

Ed has to reach down and take himself in hand, then, which is fair, because James is just staring at him like an idiot and not doing anything. His hand curls round his dick and it looks so hard, so dark with blood, and it's all glossy from James's spit which makes James's stomach clench.

"Please, you're just so—" Ed is begging, and James is utterly freaking out, properly losing his mind now, his agitation rising to a fever pitch as he tries to figure out what the fuck to do, what to say. "I just want to get you all m-messy," Ed stammers out, "god, James, I'm sorry, I don't even—"

James tries desperately to suppress that horrible deviant part of him that just wants to say _yes, yes yes yes_ without hesitation, but it's hard to use any kind of sense and logic and rational thinking when Ed's looking as desperate as he does. If James was thinking straight he's sure he would say something like "uh, no way?" or "in your dreams, sicko" but instead, right now, some primal urge takes over and all James wants is to—to have it all over him—to feel like Ed is marking him, like territory—to know that he gets Ed so hot he can't even control himself, just has to let go, all over James's _face_ —

He says nothing. He tilts his head back the tiniest bit, and licks at the tip of Ed's cock, and hopes that he'll take that as a green light and just do it, do it _now_ , so James doesn't have to admit that he wants it. And, thank god, Ed's on his wavelength, or else he's too far gone to stop—either way, he lets out a low groan, a guttural noise, uncharacteristically animalistic and raw, and James shuts his eyes tight and then he feels it, a hot splatter across his face, slick on his skin, dirty and gross and absolutely electrifying.

He can feel Ed staring at him, and that too is sending little shocks of sick pleasure through his nerves. He doesn't even want to think about how he must look. He can feel a bit of it on his upper lip, warm and wet, and he just has to—has to taste it, realising only then just how badly he'd been wanting Ed to come in his mouth, subconsciously expecting it, thrown off by Ed's sudden, more debauched plea. And he feels like he shouldn't like the taste, but he _does_ , he likes it _so much_ —the bitter tang of it and the mere fact that it's _Ed's_ makes his blood tingle.

Suddenly he feels Ed's thumb swiping across his cheek and then dipping into his mouth. Ed is giving him more, knows he wants it, and the thought makes James's heart swell at the same time as it makes him cringe. Ed just _knows_ , James doesn't have to ask for it, doesn't have to embarrass himself further by making his desires clear, and yet at the same time it's almost _more_ embarrassing to realise he's that obvious, that Ed can read him like a book. He sucks Ed's thumb gratefully, feeling his face burn hot. There's something about this just that feels so— _naughty_ , in a strange, exhilarating way that sends flames of arousal licking at his belly even as the dormant shame inside of him begins to stir. He can feel the heat of Ed's stare, hear him catching his breath, and he rolls his tongue over the pad of his thumb and swallows, teeth briefly biting down.

"Fuck, James," says Ed, and he sounds gratifyingly wrecked, and James basks in the knowledge that he's managed to take Ed apart so thoroughly. Ed's other hand tousles his hair and he melts into the touch, feeling all spacey and dreamy, lighter than air. Then Ed's voice goes lower, weak but full of veneration as he murmurs, "Good boy."

And then all James can hear is the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

He sways a little on his knees, unsteady, and his brain goes all swimmy, and his stomach swoops and then plummets in quick succession. The words make him glow with some new kind of pride and pleasure, but at the same time there's a sharp sting of something unpleasant, something like distress, because—because he's _not_. He feels the shift inside of him, from the dizzy thrill of doing something you feel you shouldn't, to the harsh, guilty ache of feeling like you've done something _wrong_. And then all of a sudden it's too much, and he's frozen, dirty-salt-taste on his tongue, face smeary-wet, a horribly familiar feeling of regret flooding through him. It's a full-body feeling, like being drenched by an ice-cold shower, or jumping into a pool after you've been cooking yourself in a hot tub for ages.

His mouth goes slack and Ed's thumb slips out, and he can't bring himself to open his eyes, can't face Ed looking at him right now. In defiance of Ed's praise, James imagines Ed is probably thinking about how gross he is, how little he must respect himself. But then he feels Ed's hands seizing him by the shoulders and manhandling him back up onto the sofa, and he doesn't know what's happening but allows it, still keeping his eyes shut. And then—then he feels a cool dampness wiping across his face and he realises that Ed is using a hopefully less-dirty corner of the flannel to clean him off. He appreciates the gesture, but it feels very much like the filth is on his soul, not just his face.

"Hey," says Ed softly. "Look at me."

"Don't wanna," retorts James, not even caring how petulant and childish he sounds. He feels all spiky, and sort of—brittle.

There's a pause. "Okay," murmurs Ed, "all right."

Then James feels a hand against his face, cool and soft and dry against the damp heat of James's cheek. And then Ed's lips are touching his and at first he flinches, recoils, but then he finds himself sinking into it, comforted by it in spite of himself. He doesn't want to think about what his mouth must taste like, but Ed wants to kiss him anyway, so that's something at least. He makes a small, pathetic, sulky noise against Ed's lips, but Ed kisses it away, easing James's mouth open with his lips so that he can slip his tongue inside, James softening at the feel of it, muscles going slack.

He doesn't know how long they kiss for but it's long enough that when Ed breaks away from him, he opens his eyes without thinking, and it doesn't feel so bad now, looking at Ed's face again. Ed doesn't look judgemental at all, and nowhere near repulsed.

"Hey," says Ed. "It's all right, you know."

James frowns at him. "What is," he says flatly.

"Everything. All of this. It's all fine."

James makes a dismissive noise and looks away, feeling prickly again at the notion of having to actually talk about this, acknowledge any of the things that just happened between them. He turns his attention to all the food on the coffee table, just for something else to look at, even though seeing it just reminds him of Ed feeding it all to him and that makes the guilt twist even more in the pit of his stomach.

"Those cakes aren't even that good, you know," he says, "I _used_ to really like that bakery but that was ages ago. There are way better places now."

He kind of hates himself even as he's saying it, because he's only saying it to hurt Ed and Ed absolutely doesn't deserve it, it's just that James feels Bad and wants Ed to feel Bad as well. It's stupid, childish defensiveness, throwing stuff back in Ed's face. Thankfully Ed knows him well enough not to rise to it, and doesn't dignify it with a reaction, but James isn't feeling mature enough to let that stop him. He wants to just keep poking and prodding.

"And that ice cream has totally melted," he mopes. "It's ruined. It's ice cream soup."

"All right, keep your knickers on," Ed says finally, getting to his feet. Even though part of James wanted him to leave, as soon as he actually gets up he wants to cling to him. It's very confusing. "I'll deal with it. I'll put it back in the freezer and it'll be good as new."

"It never is, though, when it gets melted and then refreezes," James says listlessly, flopping back into the sofa cushions. "The texture's not the same."

"Well, it's not the end of the world," says Ed with commendable patience, calling over his shoulder as he carries the tray back into the kitchen. "If the only thing it ever gets used for is you licking it off my fingers, it was worth it."

James's face goes all hot again and he presses it into the cushions, breathing hard. He feels a wave of bitterness swell up inside of him and he can't help feeling like it's all Ed's fault. He knows he wanted all of it, loved all of it, really, but that's what's so hard. That's what makes him want to blame somebody else, so that he won't have to turn it in on himself, so that he doesn't have to face the shame of having all these desires his brain tells him he shouldn't have. He's just trying not to spiral into self-hate, but it seems like the only other option is to attack, and he knows neither are healthy but he still hasn't figured out how else to deal with this reaction.

Ed returns. "Listen," he says, sitting back down on the sofa beside James. "I know you're being all snippy with me because you're ashamed of what just happened, but you really don't have to be." James makes a face; Ed knows him too damn well. "It was fun. We had a good time. I had a pretty fucking _great_ time, actually, and I think you did too, even if you'd rather die than admit it right now. It has no effect on your moral character whatsoever, that you let a friend come on your face."

"Ugh," says James, flinching at the explicit words and burying his face more forcefully into the cushions. They are soft, and forgiving.

"I really genuinely admire and respect you, you know," Ed goes on. "None of this is intended to, like, demean you or anything. It's just what turns me on."

"I bet you say that to all the girls," James grumbles, and Ed barks out a little laugh. "No, I know," James adds, in a more serious voice, because he _does_ know, somewhere deep down. It's just sex stuff, and sex stuff is weird and complicated and sometimes you don't even know why something turns you on even if it really, really does. He gets it. He's always telling himself these things, but it's still a struggle, getting it to really stick. In his gut he still feels like there's something wrong with him if he ventures outside of the narrow borders of what he's told himself is acceptable.

"You probably want me to leave," says Ed, "but I'm not going to, because I refuse to let you wallow. I'm going to get you a blanket and we're going to curl up and watch Netflix and then when you feel ready to get up then we're going to have a shower."

James makes some half-hearted protests, but when Ed gets the blanket from where it's draped over the other side of the sofa, and drapes it over James instead, he goes quiet. It feels good—maybe it's just that it's covering his nakedness, but it also feels like Ed is taking care of him, and that's kind of nice. He pulls the soft blanket up under his chin and when his fingers brush his neck there's a subtle throb of pain that reminds him there's a bruise there. His stomach twists as he wonders what it looks like, how obvious it is.

"Can't believe you gave me an actual love bite, like we're in secondary school," he grumbles, but he's aware he's only making a fuss because he secretly loves that there's a physical reminder of what happened tonight. He'll be able to look at it every day in the mirror as it fades, and think, _Ed's mouth was there_ , and that makes him feel all warm inside.

"Wanted to leave you something to remember me by," says Ed with a shrug. "Did you get many love bites in secondary school?"

"Well, no," James admits.

"I'm surprised," says Ed mildly, "you have a very biteable neck. How did everyone resist?"

James ignores this. "How am I supposed to cover it up?" he gripes.

This _is_ a genuine concern. He feels hot all over when he imagines somebody seeing it, but he's afraid that it might not be entirely a bad feeling. He really does think that it's immature to leave a mark on someone like that, like you've got something to prove, but deep down he's worried he might actually get a kick out of it. He likes the possessive nature of it, feeling like Ed has marked him so that others know he—what, belongs to somebody? It's embarrassing to think of it that way, but he can't help it. There's something animalistic and undignified about it that he wants to look down on, only he thinks it might just excite him instead. That excitement must come from the same place as his desire to let Ed come on him, and he doesn't understand that place at all; all he knows is that he doesn't want to examine any of it more closely.

"Do you still have that awful polo neck that makes you look like Velma from Scooby Doo?" Ed asks, distracting him from his guilty musings.

"I told you, I bought that by _mistake_ ," James sighs. "But yes."

"Well, you might have to break it out again," says Ed. He's fiddling with James's TV remote. "What are you in the middle of, then," he says, scrolling. "The Good Place? Nope, can't watch _that_ right now. Way too much focus on morality."

James snorts. Ed keeps scrolling through and then James thinks about what might cheer him up and says in a small voice, "Parks and Rec is on Amazon."

"Parks and Rec it is," says Ed cheerfully, pressing a few more buttons until it's loaded up and ready to play, and then he sits back on the sofa, pulling some of the blanket over himself. He's close, but not too close, not actually touching James too much and that's perfect.

James didn't even think he wanted company at all, but actually, it is nice not to be alone, and Ed's right not to let him mope around, stewing in his own shame. He still feels pretty embarrassed being around him after everything that's happened, and maybe that'll be the case for a little while, but his presence is comforting, too. Ed has seen him at his absolute lowest, and James knows he doesn't have to pretend around him, doesn't have any legitimate reason to bottle things up. He can just—be himself, even if that means being kind of grouchy when Ed might want to be basking in the afterglow. They're close enough for it not to really matter, in the grand scheme of things.

Reminding himself of that makes him feel ready to voice something that keeps nagging at him, a worry he can't quite shake. "Ed," he says quietly.

"Mm?"

"Would you—you know, does it always have to—involve food?"

Ed laughs, but not in a dismissive way like James has said something stupid, more like he's surprised. "Of course not," he says warmly. "It's not like, a necessity. It's just something I like. It's not even a fetish, really."

"Could've fooled me."

"All right, I mean—it's fetish-adjacent. But believe me, I'm more than happy to just have sex with you with absolutely nothing edible involved."

"Yeah?" asks James. It's not that it _has_ to be that way. Maybe James will be up for doing this again, when he's forgotten how horrible this part feels, and his libido takes the reins once again. But he feels like he needs to be reassured that—that Ed would still be interested.

"Yeah. Nothing weird at all, if that's what you want. We can have the most normal vanilla sex anyone's ever had and I promise you I'll still come, like, super hard. Even if it's not on your face." Ed gives him a lopsided sort of grin. "Because, and I don't know if you know this, James, but I _really_ like you. Like, a lot."

James pulls the blanket up under his chin. He sighs. "Ugh," he says, and rolls his eyes. "I really like you a lot too."

"Good, 'cause you're not getting rid of me," says Ed, patting him gently on the knee.

James feels himself smiling into the fabric of the blanket as Ed presses play.


End file.
